


Lost From Me

by bleak_midw1nter



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Birmingham, Edwardian England, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gangs, Gangsters, Inspired By Peaky Blinders, Nursing, Small Heath, The Garrison Pub (Peaky Blinders), Violence, War, Watery Lane, World War 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 55,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleak_midw1nter/pseuds/bleak_midw1nter
Summary: Years have passed since Elizabeth Scott has been home, and the 1919 Birmingham she returns to is far from the one she left as a young woman, and the man she loves is not who she remembers. Can she adapt to a new world of espionage, betrayal and violence, or will it prove to much? Tommy Shelby x OC
Relationships: Tommy Shelby & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 36





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t update very often, but I will eventually, I promise, so just hang in as you read this. You can also find this story on my tumblr (username is in my bio) or on my fanfiction.net. I really hope you enjoy this story, Eliza is a part of me at this point, I love her and everything else to do with this. Feedback and any other opinions or questions you have about the story is always welcome- enjoy!! e x

**1 October 1914**

Elizabeth Scott hung back from the group slightly, watching the bustling platform. A week ago, almost all the men in Small Health had queued half-way around the block to get into the town hall to swear an oath to King and God, receiving a pressed uniform, a clap on the shoulder and their mother or lover sobbing in their arms when they got back home. And now it was time for them to leave.

At one end of the smoky platform workers were running about, barking orders and heaving heavy crates, filled with supplies and covered in large lettering reading **LONDON** or **DOVER** , their stop on the way to the final destination coming to a close. Two carriages were dedicated to the freight and it was in and out of these that the men pushed the boxes, weaving through the crowded platform.

A carriage along was empty, the nurses set to board it still waiting on the platform, white pinafores tied in a bow on their back and fabric suitcases clasped in their hands. Their voices bubbled through the crowd and into her ears, sounding of excitement and nerves, fresh out of nursing school and straight to the front lines. Elizabeth dreaded what waited for these young, well-bred women.

The rest of the train was reserved purely for the hundreds of enlisted soldiers at the station, already bursting from the seams as men hung out of the windows and doors to call and sing, to kiss their wives goodbye and wipe the tears from their mother's cheeks. Her attention moved away from the wider platform and focused on her group that stood on the east side of the platform, like needles in a haystack. John was standing away slightly to say his own private goodbye to Martha and the kids, three young children hanging off their parent's waists, a fourth on the way that he wasn't likely to be home to see born. She took note of the smiles stretched across their cheeks, but twelve years of knowing John and Martha, fellow school mates since age seven, told her that it was just a show; it was a way to calm the babies and their uncertainty and lack of understanding as to why Father was leaving. Looking to the right, Elizabeth watched as Arthur took turns hugging his younger siblings, laughing at Finn's joke and kissing the tears from Ada's cheeks. She had already said goodbye to John and Arthur, the boy's time spread thin as they tried to wish each member of the group farewell.

"I'll see you soon Arthur, alright." Elizabeth had kissed his cheek and squeezed his hands, tears falling from her eyes, "just try not to come home with a pretty French whore on your arm, we all know what you're like." He'd roared with laughter at that, lifting her of her feet in a warm hug,

"Stop those tears Eliza, they're not necessary," He kissed her knuckles, "I'll miss you."

She'd wiped her tears away at his request and passed Arthur over to Polly, moving along to say goodbye to John. Their relationship was rarely smooth to say the least. The last twelve years had been spent fighting and arguing and tugging at each other's hair since they had first met in the school playground, but that didn't mean she loved him any less than the others, that her heart didn't ache as he walked over to Elizabeth with a weak smile on his face.

"Eliza," he sighed, pulling her into a hug, "I love you and I'll miss you."

That was enough for the tears to fall again, sobbing into his shoulder at the same time as kicking his foot. She pulled back to cup his face in her hands,

"I know our relationship is rough John, but I do, truly love you and I need you to come home quick," she kissed his cheek and stood back, grasping his wrist before he moved away to Martha, "otherwise who will I have that takes my punches quite so spectacularly as you, hey?"

And then John was gone as well, slipping from her fingers like sand. And so she stood back, focusing on any part of the world around her except her final goodbye. Polly was crying into his arms, her shoulders shaking, her hair blocking his face from her view. But before long Polly had untangled herself, wiping her cheeks and smiling over her shoulder at Elizabeth as she moved to the side. Tommy walked to her, intertwining his fingers with hers like the vines that wrapped around the oak tree by the Cut, the one they so often sat beneath on summer evenings. She couldn't bring herself to look at him.

Elizabeth had first met Tommy twelve years ago, brought to his house one Saturday evening to play with John. Polly had been keen to link her blood family, her nieces and nephews, with the melancholy children she'd been looking after since the death of their mother, a close friend of Polly's and from the same group of travellers. Elizabeth had quickly realised that John wasn't worth her time and that he was actually quite annoying, but the attention of her seven-year-old self had been utterly encapsulated by Tommy's twelve-year-old self as he walked into the living room. They had hardly separated since, at each other's sides through thick and thin. When his mother died and his father left, when her father had passed away nearly two years ago, leaving Elizabeth and her brother, George, orphaned. He'd even stood by her side, hand in hand, as she waved goodbye to her brother from this very platform, George signing up in the beginning weeks of the war.

It was no secret to either of them, or anyone in fact, that their love had been more than a friendly affection in these last years, blossoming between the two with nothing ever really being said or done. It took her brother leaving, however, to have brought them even closer together, making the last few months of hell almost bearable. They had danced all night on weekends, hands intertwined or wrapped around waists, sharing glasses of whiskey and gin. He'd waited outside The Garrison at the end of her shifts, tucking auburn hair behind Elizabeth's ear, a thumb skating daringly down her cheekbone. In return she'd arrived at the betting house, in the evenings after teaching at the local school, to kiss Tommy's cheek and eat dinner with him. But they had never even talked about these feelings, about these daring touches and secret glances. They had certainly never kissed. That meant it wasn't like she was losing a sweetheart, Elizabeth tried to tell herself. Except it tore at her heart and twisted her gut exactly like she was losing just that.

"Look at me Liza," he whispered softly, the version of her name reserved only for him, "let's get away for a minute, ey?"

He led her a few yards away from the group, exactly like Martha and John she thought, and brought her hands to his lips.

"I don't think I can, Tommy," she replied, voice breaking, "if I look at you I'll cry and I'll beg you to never leave me and that's not fair."

"Please." He brought his fingers to her chin and tilted her face up to look at his. Tommy's hair was tucked beneath a green hat, but she knew it was shorter than it had ever been, the sides of his head shaven thin, his face bare. She bit back the tears, her teeth tearing at her lips until she was certain they would begin to bleed. It was in that position that they stood for a few heartbeats, silent words spoken through the glints of their eyes, the tug of his small smile and the lowering of her eyebrows.

"I got something for you," he finally said, "I don't know if you'll like it, Polly said you would, but you know what she's like, winding me up and that, and if you don't like it that's alright, but it's just, I guess, it's just something to remember me by, yeah, because we'll probably be gone a while longer than they say, you know, and if I don't-"

The words spilt out of his mouth in a waterfall, dripping with embarrassment and desperation, but they faded out in the end as he realised she was going to say nothing in return, unable to find her voice. So instead Tommy pressed a cold, metal object into Elizabeth's hands, pulled her into a crushing hug, kissed her cheek and walked back to the others.

She followed slowly, inspecting the gift he'd given to her, unaware of the whistle calling all the men to the train. The cool metal was gold, a little tri-fold picture frame the size of her hand that she unclasped at the side. It opened up to reveal the inside, made of the same yellow metal but with a white ceramic border that circled each frame, white lilies and green vines printed on top. There were two pictures inside, ones she recognised well.

Yesterday evening there had been a village fair on the green as a send-off for the boys, with music and dancing and even a photography stand. Tommy had dragged her over in the evening, wrapping his hands around her waist and smiling at the camera. The photographer took one photo, the smoke from the camera billowing into the clear sky, and was about to take another when Tommy whispered something in her ear that had meant she'd thrown her head back in laughter as the second flash went off. She had hardly even thought about what he would do with the photos, until they shone back up at her from the frames. The photo on the left had them both smiling into the camera but the one of the far right featured her laughing, Tommy's eyes gazing fondly down at her, a smile playing on his own face. It made her heart flutter. The frame in the middle held only a piece of yellowing paper, with the words:

_'I'll come home so we can fill this empty frame,_   
_All my love,_   
_Tommy.'_

And then Elizabeth was looking up, the frame tucked hastily into her coat pocket as she sought out the fading backs of the Shelby brothers through the crowd. Tears clouded her vision but she ran forward anyway, pushing through the people in front of her despite protests and cries of outrage. She called his name, over and over, praying he'd turn back. And he did, smiling in amusement and confusion as she drew nearer, arms outstretched slightly to hug her.

But she didn't hug him.

Instead she threw herself at Tommy, hands around his neck and lips clashing with his. She pressed herself against him hungrily, salty tears mixing with their kiss, his hands fixed firmly on her waist. Elizabeth's lungs shrieked in pain as all her breath left her, but she refused to back down, until Tommy pulled away, resting his forehead on hers. The kiss had spoken a thousand words; it meant that he didn't need to ask her to wait for him anymore, it meant that Elizabeth didn't need to beg him to come home to her, the message that both of them needed so desperately after months and years of ignoring the calls from their hearts.

"Don't go," she cried, clinging onto his neck, eyes pressed shut.

"I have to Liza," Tommy said, removing his hands from her waist and taking hers from around his neck, but still keeping their foreheads pressed together, "I love you."

"I love you too."

And then he was gone, running to jump on the train as the doors began to shut, Arthur and John pulling him up. Once he was safely onboard, door shut behind him, he pushed the window down, leaning out to wave goodbye. Her eyes didn't leave his as the train started moving, her feet running down the platform as far as she could go until he was gone, round a bend, lost from her, the feel of his lips on hers that Monday afternoon burnt into memory.

Polly had found Elizabeth still standing there, minutes after the train had gone and the platform had started to empty. She guided her away gently, whispering an 'I told you so' into her ear, the two of them joined by Ada and Finn as they returned home. But by the time she was sat at the Shelby's kitchen table, mug of tea in hand, Elizabeth could feel the taste of his lips on hers fading, the Tommy that had kissed her that day slipping away from them all.

* * *

(28/03/2020)


	2. Chapter 1

**7 May** **1919**  
 _four and a half years later_

Polly's hand was hard against Tommy's shoulder, her smacks echoing through the empty church hall as she pummelled her nephew aggressively.

"So that's why they sent a copper from Belfast." She hissed, her face close to his, the anger that seethed across her features clear. Tommy couldn't look her in the eye.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Thomas, you're a bookmaker, a robber, a fighting man, you are not a fool." Polly spat those words like the devil might read a list of sins, the frustration dripping from her tongue, aimed for Tommy with the hope of wakening him to reality. "You sell those guns to anyone who has use for them, you will hang."

A door creaked open, a man passing them where they sat, his footsteps loud through the hall, forcing Polly to quieten her tone and turn away from Tommy. Their conversation was not meant for passing ears. They sat in silence as he passed, not looking at each other, dwelling with the words that had just been spoken, processing how this new life of theirs had managed to come to this. To words whispered in a church, facing threats of hanging. Once the footsteps had finally faded into silence, Polly turned back around again to face Tommy, her eyes burning into his.

"Dump them somewhere the police can find them." It wasn't a suggestion. "Maybe if they know they haven't fallen into the wrong hands, this might blow over. Tell Charlie to dump them tonight."

"No," his words cut into hers. "He won't move contraband under a full moon. Three days until it wanes."

"Then you'll do the right thing?" Tommy nodded, complying with Polly's demands. At least, she prayed that's what he would do. "You have your mother's common sense, but your father's devilment. I see them fighting." She leaned in closer, "let your mother win."

And then Polly was up and away, crouching quickly at the alter to bless herself before she made for the exit with shoes clicking against the tiled floor, Tommy left sitting in brooding silence behind her. Polly had reached the end of the pews when she stopped suddenly, turning around to look back at him.

She watched him, eyes skirting over Tommy from behind. She saw his peaky cap slung low, embroidered with metal, observed his tensed shoulder, his clenched jaw; the image of a man with the weight of the world pressing down on him. Polly dared to hope for a heartbeat as she spoke again.

"And Tommy," he turned his head slightly at the sound of her voice to show that he was listening, Polly continued, "Elizabeth's train arrives tomorrow evening." His jaw seemed to tightened even more. "You will be there, won't you?"

Tommy only response was to turn away in silence, his attention suddenly focused on the altar. Polly sighed sadly, her hope for him slipping even further through her fingers.

**8 May 1919**

Elizabeth's train slowed as it came to the station, breaks screaming in protest and smoke billowing up the sides to fog the rain-splattered windows. Night was fast approaching and the world outside was dark and gloomy, the orange glow of the platform lamps forming strange shadows across the window and carriage floor. As the train finally came to a stop the carriage around her seemed to burst into life. Where men and women were previously asleep and silent, they were now standing up and moving around, luggage was being collected and shouts were thrown out the windows and doors to the outside world around her. For a minute Elizabeth couldn't move, she sat silently and still, watching the people that circled her. She heard a baby crying behind, a man a few seats down was coughing into his sleeve. It almost felt like she wasn't with them, floating above it all. The opening of the doors was enough of a wake-up call, however, and she was off her seat like all the others, following children, chattering girls, old women and businessmen alike. A group of Irish men shoved past Elizabeth to get the door, muttering darkly beneath their breath. A soldier caught her arm to stop her falling over, pulling her back to her feet.

"Thank you," she said quietly, smiling at him. He stood with two other soldiers, exhausted-looking men with grey faces and sad smiles. Their uniform was faded and their bags were bulging on their backs. The man's hand rested on her elbow and she took it in hers for a second, squeezing gently and smiling again. They looked out of place, she noticed, uncomfortable and afraid.

"Long time since you've been home, huh?" Their response was simply a nod, eyes downcast and focused on the floor, "it won't seem so unfamiliar after a while."

Elizabeth couldn't really tell who that was meant for, the soldiers or herself, but there wasn't enough time to wonder as she neared the carriage doors, open to the outside, and the soldiers moved past her to disembark. She followed behind, pushing her hat further down her head with one hand and gripping her bag so tightly in the other that her knuckles grew white and began to ache. Stepping down onto the platform seemed to take forever, time stilling around her. She panicked slightly as she felt her lungs burning and her chest tightening, realising she'd forgotten to breath. The evening wind was bitter against her cheeks but beneath her coat Elizabeth felt as if she was burning. The platform was surprisingly busy and, through fog and hazy rain, she had to look around for several minutes to find who she was looking for. With every step her heart beat faster, her jaw tightened, her hand ached.

And then Elizabeth saw them.

At the end of the platform, nearest the exit, two women and a boy stood hazed by the smoke of the train as it pulled away from the station, but clear as a summer day to Elizabeth as she took them in. At first her walk to the trio was slow, but it didn't take long for her steps to quicken. Where her heart once beat fast from dread, it now pounded in excitement. Her tightened jaw loosened into an aching smile, tears filled her eyes. She began to run and had to grasp her hat to keep it on her head, letting go of her coat. It billowed out behind her like a cloak, flapping in the wind as she raced to reach them. Polly met her halfway, the woman's arms wrapping around her waist in a crushing hug that took her halfway of her feet and spinning around. She swung her own arms around Polly's neck, sobbing into her shoulder as she was brought down to her feet. It was there they stayed for several minutes, intertwined in her surrogate mother's arms, breathing in the perfume that had scented her childhood, the warm hair that had soaked up many more tears before.

Standing on the Small Heath train station platform that evening, hugging Polly, Elizabeth realised just how much she had missed everything in the last years. Buried desires surfaced with the tears, spilling out to soak a coat-covered shoulder and she grasped Polly's neck almost too tightly so that they may never part again. Eventually Polly pulled back, however, grasping Elizabeth's face in her hands and moving it from side to side, gently, looking at her. Even through her tear-filled vision, she could make out Polly's own red eyes and running nose, as well as the smile to match, spread wide across her face. A smile once as familiar as her own and yet now so foreign.

"Oh Eliza," She could only sigh, pulling her into a hug once again, hands stroking her hair, her cheeks, her arms. "I've missed you so much my dear."

"Alright Aunt Pol, give the rest of us a bloody go." Ada elbowed her way past her Aunt to pull Elizabeth into her own greeting, squealing and giggling as she wrapped her arms around her neck. The girl spun her round and weaved their fingers together, sighing and kissing her cheek. ""It's so good to have you back Eliza! You don't know how much I've missed you, how we've all missed you."

And then Ada stepped away as well, though not before taking her bag from her and moving back to rest her head on Polly's shoulder. Finn stepped forward then, smiling meekly at Elizabeth, hands tucked deep into his pockets and his feet scraping at the ground. He was taller than she remembered, and nowhere near as skinny and bouncy as he had been at six years old when she had last seen him. All the same, she crouched down to below his height, grinning at him.

"Seems you've half turned into a man while I've been gone," she opened her arms to welcome him into a hug, "I have missed you so much Finn."

He replied with a grin that spread across his face, sweet and soft like warm honey. He bundled himself into her arms, hugging her tightly, his arms tightening around her shoulders. The weight of his small body against hers was enough to cause more tears to spill from her eyes and Elizabeth found herself sobbing into Finn's shoulder this time, his boyish innocence something she had missed with a fierce passion. The little boy, equal parts brother and son, that wasn't so little anymore. The boy who had begun to grow up in front of her before she had left, who had continued growing without her. Elizabeth had feared at first he might even have forgotten her, her heart ached for the time they'd been apart, but Finn's arms around her shoulders and his own tears against her neck were an answer to that fear, a promise they could be like they once were.

She stood up then, taking his hand in hers and looking at the others. Polly was crying into a handkerchief, Ada smiling nostalgically with Elizabeth's bag hugged tightly against her chest. And suddenly the last four and a half years seemed to blend into nothingness for a heart beat. As she stood there, looking at her family, it felt as though she was young and free again, nineteen years old with the whole world ahead of her. It felt like they could be who they once were. The moment was gone almost as quickly as it came but it was enough for her, enough to smile bravely and link arms with Polly as they followed Finn and Ada out the station doors. It was enough to continue hoping.

"The boys will be just round the corner, I tasked them with putting your other bags in the car, which is just outside the station," Elizabeth couldn't help the smile that crept up to her face at those words, but when Polly noticed she faltered in her step and bought the two of them to a stop. "Oh, Eliza, dear, I'm sorry." She shooed Ada and Finn ahead quickly with a look and a wave of a hand, before grasping Elizabeth's hands in hers. "When I say boys, love, I mean Arthur and John. Just Arthur and John. We thought, hoped that maybe... he knew you were coming, it's just-"

"Aunt Pol it's fine," She cut her of with a smile and a kiss on a cheek, moving them on again. "I understand." And though Polly seemed hesitant first, she accepted Elizabeth's smile reluctantly and walked out the train station with her in silence.

The smile wasn't false, she told herself, she was beyond happy to even be home and if she was being reasonable, she never really expected him to turn up as well. Things were different now, the boys were different now. God, Elizabeth herself was far from the girl she had been the last time that she had seen them. Polly had said how he'd changed, she'd seen it for herself in the men and soldiers going home. War had changed them all. And yet something pulled ever so slightly at her chest still, twisting and biting, a bitter sadness that caught at the back of her throat and threatened to choke her into a sob. She kept smiling though and pushed it all down as they turned a street corner and her attention was stolen by the two men leaning against a car, all smiles and shouts as she neared them.

Arthur and John looked much older. Their faces were more gaunt, sleep-deprived and sharp. Arthur had more hair than she remembered, as well as a moustache, and John seemed smaller, or at least he held himself that way. Elizabeth didn't remember them being so strong, either. Their arms were muscled, their shoulders taunt and stomachs flat. They didn't look like boys anymore, the war had taken that from them as well. She neared, moving from Polly's grasp and found herself once again running, desperate to greet them. Their caps glinted in the setting sun, a red glow reflecting off the metal. Elizabeth ignored it though, throwing herself into Arthur's arms with a laugh, allowing him to spin her around and around, crushing her in a breathless hug. Though he had changed, his warmth and laughter had not, and for that she was grateful. She kissed him on both cheeks and let him wipe the tears from her eyes.

John was still leant on the car behind them, when she moved past Arthur to greet him. John who she had despised since they first met each other. John who she had argued and fought with for as long as anyone could remember. But also John that she had hugged so tightly when he'd left, begging him to come back. John that had lost his wife a year ago and had come home to four young children, both a widower and a veteran. She placed a hand against his cheek and looked into his sad eyes. They seemed to carry so much weight and her heart ached for him, because, despite all their bickering, he would always be her brother.

"John, I am so sorry I couldn't come to the funeral." She swallowed a sob and continued, "Martha will always be with you though, and with your children." She pulled him into an embrace then, unable to stop the cry that pierced through her lips as she clung to him. John was silent, but his actions spoke loud as he clung back. "I'm always here for you, remember that. I'll help you, whatever you need, I'll help you."

It was all she could manage and, though Elizabeth wished she could give more, John seemed content with that and kissed her cheek, even managing a small smile.

"Right then," Polly said from beside them, "shall we go home?"

* * *

(17/04/2020)


	3. Chapter 2

**9 May 1919**

The door to the Garrison was heavy as Elizabeth pushed it open, the paint splintering slightly against her shoulder. Inside the lights flowed dimly and a warmth spread through her, a soothing respite from the bitter weather outside. Her footsteps echoed as she crossed the floor of the empty room. Harry Fenton looked up from his cleaning in annoyance, only to notice Elizabeth before him, his face splitting into a grin.

"As I live and breath!' He dropped the mop in his hands to embrace her, "Elizabeth Scott! I never thought I'd see you here again, what are you doing back in this shit hole?" He pressed a kiss to either side of her cheek.

"Do you mean in your pub or in Birmingham?" She asked, grinning at him. Harry laughed earnestly, shaking his head,

"Both, I suppose." Elizabeth put her bag down on the bar so she could help him with the cleaning as she thought, pouring the contents of several heavy tankards into an empty bucket.

"I suppose I don't have an answer for why I'm back in Birmingham, Harry. It's home, I'll always find myself back here" She set the bucket down onto a table and turned, gesturing to the air around her. "For the Garrison, however, I'm back here because I'd like the job that you're advertising for."

At her words, Harry's smile faltered slightly and he leant against his mob, sighing.

"Eliza..." He wiped his brow and cleared his throat. "This pub isn't what it used to be. The men, well, they're different now, and it's never been the safest job, but these days it's worse here than it's ever been. It would be wrong of me to hire you."

"And you'd let any other girl take the job?" She shook her head and laughed in response to her own question. "I started working here when I was fourteen, Harry, so if anyone can deal with this pub now, it's me. I've seen it all, I'm used to it." He watched her in silence, frowning. "And those men you call difficult? I've spent the last four years with them, I think I can cope."

For a minute it seemed like he'd say no again but, reluctantly, he threw up his hands in defeat and nodded.

"Fine, fine, if you say so. I have missed having you around I suppose. So, you'll want your old hours back, will you?"

"My job at the school isn't available anymore, so can I go full time now, like the advert in the paper says."

She'd written to the headteacher of the local school just before she'd returned to Small Heath, the sweet but old Mrs McCarthy, who wore thick, woollen coats even in summer. Elizabeth had inquired after her old job that she'd had before the war, but it had been filled by someone else almost three years ago. The letter back from Mrs McCarthy had hurt. She had adored working with the children through the week, teaching them spelling and painting, watching their smiles as they learnt something new, but a full time job at the Garrison payed more than two lots of part time work she had to tell herself, so it wasn't too much of a loss. As well, her old hours had factored in time to spend with those she loved, and recently it felt like those hours would just end up being spent wasted and alone. Harry wiped his hand on his apron and stuck it out for her to shake.

"Alright then, full time." She clasped his hand in return, smiling.

"Thank you Harry."

"Don't you thank me yet Eliza, just wait till you finish your first shift tomorrow and we'll see what you say then." He seemed annoyed at himself for giving her the job, but didn't say anymore on the subject.

"I'll see you tomorrow then."

She hugged him one final time and picked her bag back up, heading back out to face the harsh weather. Elizabeth had pushed the door open when she faltered for a beat, turning back to look inside. The Garrison had changed, she'd noticed.

"Harry, where has the bandstand gone?" He looked up at here from the behind the bar, a sad smile on his face.

"There's not been any music since they got back Eliza, it was a waste of space to have it up, I'm sorry"

"I loved it when they played music."

"I know." Harry said softly, a pitiful look in his eyes.

Elizabeth felt a sudden urge to cry, and had to bite her cheek to stop it. She turned back around and left, letting the door bang shut behind her.

**10 May 1919**

Inspector Campbell found the metal bench in the park easy enough, concealed off the main path in a terraced circle, surrounded by thick Evergreens and twisting Ivy bushes. It was dark here and the air was damp, alive with the smell of pine and mud. He waited, silently, on the bench for a few minutes before a second person emerged from the gap in the trees, sitting down beside him. Campbell was the first to break the quiet.

"My men from Ireland arrived today, so the force is now largely made up of those loyal to the Crown, not traitors and cowards. Tomorrow we plan on introducing ourselves to the Peaky Blinders, do you know where we would find Arthur Shelby Jr."

He turned to look at the person sat beside him, who was nervously wringing their hands.

"I heard him talking to some ladies he was drinking with today, he wants to take them to the pictures." Harry Fenton said, studying his feet. "He likes to be alone in the theatre and he likes to go on Saturdays, so they'll be there tomorrow."

"Thank you." Campbell clapped the bartender on the shoulder, "I'm sure I don't need to remind you of the importance of you keeping silent about what I tell you, yes?"

Harry nodded.

"Very good. I have one more question for you today Mr Fenton, before you go. I've heard that a woman arrived in Birmingham two days ago, late in the evening, and that you gave her a job in your pub, is that correct?"

"It is Sir," he swallowed thickly,

"And do you know this woman, Mr Fenton?" Harry hesitated before he answered, looking up at Inspector Campbell.

"I do, she's a nice girl, Inspector. I've known her since she was little, she's never done no harm."

"Why would you say that?" Chester narrowed his eyes suspiciously, pushing his hat further up his head so he could see more easily.

"It's only because, Sir, well, she's quite involved with the Shelby family, Sir." Fenton coughed, his hand shaking. "And I don't want you to get the wrong impression about her, she's never done no harm, like I said, she's not like them."

"Any man, woman or child involved with these Blinders, is like them, Mr Fenton. There's no difference. I was led to believe I could rely on you, that you wanted these thugs, these criminals, gone from your streets just as much as I do. Was I wrong in believing that?"

"No Sir."

"Then remember that this girl is no different from them. Now, tell me what you know about her, and we'll see how we can make use of her proximity to you."

"Her name is Elizabeth Scott, Inspector. Her mother and Polly Grey, the Shelby's aunt, were close friends, grew up in the same area I think, and when Eliza's mother died seventeen, no, sorry, eighteen years ago-"

"You're confident it was eighteen years ago? In 1901, yes? And how old was Miss Scott then?" Chester Campbell had a notebook out and was scribbling in it as the story went along.

"Yes, 1901, I'm sure. And she would have been, uh, six I think."

"So she was born in 1895, Mr Fenton?" Harry nodded, "continue please,"

"Well, after that, Polly became much like a mother to them."

"Them?"

"Oh right, sorry. Elizabeth and George, her older brother, they were looked after by Polly; their father was a good man but he had to work a lot to support the family, so it was Polly who cared for them. She introduced them to her brother's kids, the Shelby's that is, some people around their age for company, a distraction, I remember her saying to me. Elizabeth and John Shelby were in the same class at school so that made it easier, though the two never got along."

Harry laughed then, smiling.

"I remember they used to mess up my pub all the time, shouting and fighting, good kids."

He noticed the Inspector's narrowed eyes and blushed, coughing and returning to the topic.

"It was around then, must have been anyway, that Eliza met Tommy-Thomas Shelby. The two became close friends and after that the Scotts and the Shelbys were always together, you'd see them all around town, or at the Garrison, the kids playing down Watery Lane, so they were like one big family.

"After the death of the Shelby's mother in 'o-nine, and then Eliza's father in twelve, George, her brother, and the Shelby brothers, that's when they started their fighting and their bookkeeping. It wasn't new, exactly, but it was properly serious now and I know her brother was involved right in the thick of it, since he was basically one of the boys already. The lot of them were orphans, more or less, no parents left to support them, so they had to do things themselves. Sometime round then as well, was when Eliza and Tommy started, well, they..."

Harry trailer off, scratching the back of his neck and tilting his head in confusion.

"They what, Mr Fenton? What are you trying to say?"

"It's a bit complicated, is all, Sir. I was gonna say that's when the two became a couple, you know, but see they weren't really, actually, a couple. See everyone thought they were, but I'd hear Eliza complaining to the girls at the bar about it and well..."

He sighed, rubbed his eyes and continued again,

"To put it simple, Inspector, they were as close to a couple as you can get without any of the, pardon my bluntness, but without anything of an intimate nature, you understand?"

Inspector Campbell raised his eyebrows, and scoffed.

"Thank you Mr Fenton, I understand, continue."

"Well, that's more or less the end Sir. War came around not much later, took all the boys off." Harry looked then at Inspector Campbell with an odd gleam in his eye. "That is to say, Sir, most of the boys."

Campbell glared back at him.

"Anyway, her brother died within the first few months, December 1914, sad time that. She quit her job at the Garrison then and by the new year she was off in France, not sure where though, serving as a nurse."

"She served as a nurse? A VAD nurse, is that right?" The inspector looked almost shocked,

"Yeah, it is. Look, Inspector, I know you said all that about them being criminals, which of course is, uh, it's true, but it was really quite sad, if you don't mind me saying. The end of it all, that is. I remember the last time I saw her, when she told me she was quitting, there weren't tears or anything, she just looked exhausted, miserable. She looked invisible. She'd lost all her family by then Inspector, everyone, none of her blood was left. She had the Shelbys, of course, but that's not quite the same, is it, Inspector, not quite the same as kin"

Campbell didn't respond to that, he only watched Fenton, his jaw clenched.

"Well anyway, that's it really. She stayed over there in France, once the war was done, guess coming home wasn't on her mind. We all thought she'd never come back, that she'd move to London, or abroad, maybe even stay in France, they say the South is even more beautiful after everything, but then there she was, in my pub yesterday, looking for her job back. I was so hap- it was good to see her back in there 'cause, uh, because it will help with the case and all, Sir, so it was good. That's about it then Inspector, unless you have any more questions?"

"What about now, Mr Fenton? What's her stand with the Shelbys now that she's returned, with Thomas Shelby specifically?" Campbell had put his notebook back into his coat, but he still sat watching Harry.

"I couldn't say, Sir. Don't see why she wouldn't still be close with them, the young Shelby and 'specially Polly, she's like her mother and all, but I'm not sure what will happen between Tommy and Eliza. All I can say, Inspector, is that there's been no engagement announcement, no talk of it, and I was making conversation this morning with some ladies who know all that gossip, sometimes even before it's been said, you know those kind of ladies, Inspector Campbell? Anyway, my point is, after more than four years apart, you'd think there might be some talk of that, even a little whispering, would you not? That's all."

"Thank you Fenton, I'll see you again, sometime soon." Harry nodded, scratching his head and hesitating slightly, like there was something he wanted to say, before he got up from the bench and left.

Campbell was alone then, so he took advantage of the quiet, the soft hush of the wind through the trees and the gentle patter of rain, gathering his thoughts. He was annoyed he hadn't heard of Elizabeth before this, confused as to why a sweetheart of one of the Shelby boys wouldn't turn up on records, especially one as close to the family as this. He had unearthed a lot about John's wife, Martha, and he'd known about the Shelby's parents without Fenton mentioning it himself, but nothing about this, about her.

_A volunteer nurse as well,_ he thought.

It made him grind his teeth. He already suffered enough in that regard, he'd seen the looks some of the officers gave him, the names they called men like him. Knowing the Shelby men had served in the war, had won medals, it was an annoyance he didn't need, and now he had to deal with a nurse as well- a woman. He could only hope it would work to his advantage, however. Hope that she wasn't as loyal as she sounded, that something had happened since she'd gone that might make her willing to talk, and working alongside Harry Fenton in the Garrison would certainly help un-earth anything she knew about these gangs and the missing weaponry, he prayed. He couldn't help but wonder about her, though. A young woman, a woman who had served, who Fenton seemed to care about. He had said she was nice, that she wasn't like them. What was a woman like that doing with these boys? How could she be involved with criminals if she was so willing to help people?

_Stop this foolery,_ he had to scold himself, _it doesn't matter if she's just flown down from heaven, she's a Peaky Blinder and that's enough for Elizabeth Scott to deserve to swing from a rope beside them._

* * *

(07/05//2020)


	4. Chapter 3

**11 May 1919**

"I can help!" Ada shouted as she ran into the kitchen. She sat down next to Elizabeth at the table, sighing sympathetically at the sounds of Arthur cursing and spitting as Elizabeth and Polly tended to his wounds.

"Since when?" John scoffed from where he leant against the doorway, raising a mocking eyebrow at his sister. He hadn't bothered to offer any help himself, only coming over from where he'd been working in the betting shop to smirk at his brothers discomfort.

"I'm a trained nurse!" Ada stated, to the family's amusement.

"Don't make me laugh, it hurts my face." Arthur said, yelling as Elizabeth tightened the cotton bandage that she was wrapping around the two splints on his broken thumb. He squirmed in his seat and she had to grasp his hand when he tried to move it, so that he didn't dislodge her work.

"I bloody am!" Ada huffed, looking to the women in the room for support. Elizabeth couldn't help but smile at her familiar stubbornness, but moved her head to stare intently at Arthur's thumb, knowing it would only frustrate her more if Ada could see her struggling not laugh.

"You went to one first aid class in the church hall and got thrown out for giggling. Besides," John took the toothpick out his mouth and pointed it at where Elizabeth sat beside Arthur. "She's the actual trained nurse here."

Ada met her eyes with a look of guilt and the room around her seemed to still after John spoke. Arthur stopped fidgeting and moved his gaze to the table as if to avoid eye contact, and Polly paused as she cleaned the blood from Arthur's eyes, looking from John to Elizabeth. To a stranger walking into the room, it would seem as if he had revealed a secret of hers to everybody there, and not something that they already knew. She understood their reaction though. It was never something they'd ever talked about, even before she left.

"Sorry Eliza," Ada said, smiling up at her innocently, "I forgot."

"No worries," Elizabeth cut the bandage and finished securing it around Arthur's thumb, turning to face Ada. "If you want to help, you can start by getting a fresh cloth and some water for me so that I can deal with this nasty cut on Arthur's temple."

Arthur was grimacing at the idea when she heard someone walk into the room. Elizabeth looked from Ada to the source of the noise and her smile dropped from her face.

Tommy Shelby had entered the room, bottle of rum in hand and cigarette between his lips.

"Let me see him," Tommy said, but when he looked up to Arthur, his eyes crossed over where Elizabeth sat beside him. He halted to a stop as he saw her. They stared at each other, blue eyes meeting brown, and the room faded away around them, until her world was a single colour. Elizabeth felt as if she wanted to cry, wanted to scream, to smile, to laugh; as if she wanted to do all four at once. But more than anything, she wanted to stand up and throw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and finally get to to feel him against her in the flesh, and not just in the memories that plagued her dreams.

But the man that Elizabeth saw standing before her wouldn't spin her around like she was a girl again. She knew that this Tommy, however respectfully, would step away. Four years and a war would do that to a person. As she looked at him, she could see that change right in front of her. It was the answer to why Tommy hadn't come to see her when she had come home, why he would no longer greet her like they were young again. However long it had been since she'd last seen those eyes, Elizabeth would never miss the change inside them. There was a coldness that wasn't there before, something painful and bitter living within him, pulling Tommy away from her even as she looked at him.

The world came crashing down around her then, and Elizabeth was suddenly conscious of the other eyes in the room watching their encounter. She took a sharp breath, chest heaving as she filled her lungs with air that she had forgotten to breath, and she turned her focus back to Arthur and the blood dripping from his cracked skin. Tommy cleared his throat and walked to the other side of the table next to Polly.

"Alright, have this." He handed his brother the bottle from his hand and exchanged it for the cloth in Polly's, cleaning it in a bowl of water. Arthur took a swig of rum before Tommy took the bottle away again, dousing his cloth with the bitter alcohol and grabbing Arthur's face, pressing the rum-soaked rag against the cut that Elizabeth was about to deal with before Tommy had entered. Arthur hissed, banging his fist on the table, and she had to bite her cheek and sit further back in her chair to stop from interjecting, grimacing at the encounter. Polly had moved out of Tommy's way to stand between Elizabeth and Ada, squeezing her shoulder lightly as she passed. Elizabeth looked behind her, to where the woman stood, catching Polly's eye. She looked down at her with a sadness.

"You're alright." Tommy clasped Arthur's neck to help calm him down, but the brother only grabbed his wrist in response and pulled him closer.

"He said Mr. Churchill sent him to Birmingham," Arthur spat, "national interest, he said, something about a robbery. He said he wants us to help him."

Tommy pulled away and stood up calmly, smoke curling out from the cigarette between his lips as he leant against the cupboards. Elizabeth saw something flicker in his eyes as he looked at Arthur, and felt Polly's grip on her shoulder tighten slightly. She frowned. He took the cigarette from his mouth, looking away from his brother and at the floor.

"We don't help coppers," John said, indignantly, from where he stood. Arthur waved a hand vaguely at his brother behind him, but he kept his focus on Tommy,

"He knew all about our war records. He said we're patriots like him, he wants us to be his eyes and ears. I said we'd have a family meeting and take a vote." Tommy glanced back up at Arthur but he made no response. "Well, why not? Mmm? We have no truck with Fenians or communists. What's wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with him lately?"

Arthur looked to Polly and Elizabeth beside him for an answer, and whilst the older woman raised her eyebrows at Tommy, she could only move her focus onto her hands clasped in her lap, remaining out of the conversation.

"If I knew, I'd buy the cure from Compton's chemists," Polly said, staring angrily at Tommy.

Arthur could only curse his brother and grab the bottle of rum from the table, bringing it to his mouth to nurse the drink. Polly moved back to her seat, tutting, whilst Tommy walked out the room. Elizabeth hesitated for a minute, debating whether to continue where he'd left of with Arthur's cut, or to follow after him. She glanced at Arthur as he swallowed loving mouthfuls of the bitter drink and decided he'd be just fine in Polly's care, pushing back from the table and standing up, walking out after Tommy. She caught him just as he reached the door, calling after him.

"Tommy!" He didn't turn to face her and instead moved to open the door. "Tommy, please!"

"What, Elizabeth?" He sighed, turning around to face her. "I have places I need to be."

His words were harsh, cutting through her. She could only smile bitterly and blink back the tears that filled her eyes, nodding in a resentful understanding.

"I'm sorry I disturbed you, I'll leave you alone, Thomas." Elizabeth managed to find her voice, thick with emotion, and turned to walk back to the kitchen. His voice called out after her, however, before she could go far.

"Liza, wait." She looked back at him, "I shouldn't have said that, it was unkind of me." Something about Tommy's use of 'Liza', that name only he used, it softened her.

"It was." Elizabeth whispered, smiling gently. Tommy let go of the door handle and leant against the wall, crossing his arms in front of him.

"We weren't sure if you were ever coming home again, but I'm..." He scratched his cheek and looked at her almost embarrassed, "I'm glad that you're back, Liza."

"You didn't think I'd come back?"

"Polly hadn't heard from you for six months, you stopped writing to her."

"Not to you thou-" Elizabeth caught herself before she could finish, clearing her throat and trying not blush. She crossed her arms in mirror to Tommy and restarted her sentence, "I understand how that could have seemed, but I was always going to come back. It's impossible to escape this place."

She scoffed almost bitterly and Tommy looked away, silence permeating the air between them.

"You, uh, you're settled right? You like where you live?" He asked, breaking the quiet in the hall.

"Oh, it's lovely," she looked back up at him and smiled, "I hope it's not too much though, I don't want to be any trouble."

"It's not trouble at all."

"This is all," Elizabeth gestured at the air around her, "it's all going so well." Tommy surprised her by laughing and smiling at her.

"You think being able to pay half your lease is 'going well'?" He gestured to the air around them as well, tilting his head.

"Is it not?" She raised her eyebrows slightly.

"I'm hoping for more."

"You've always been hoping for more. Doesn't mean that what you have right now shouldn't be celebrated though."

They looked at each other and Tommy nodded slowly, watching Elizabeth with a sadness. She felt a bittersweet stab in her chest.

_You've always been_.

She returned his look with a sad smile of her own. Tommy uncrossed his arms and put a hand back on the doorknob,

"I'll see you soon,"

"You too." Elizabeth waited for him to open the door and leave, but Tommy seemed to hesitate, staring at the dark wood, his hand falling from the brass handle. He turned around to face her again and was suddenly crossing the space between them, pulling her into an embrace. Tommy took her by surprise and she fell back a few steps, but his arms were there around her back to catch her, and after a heartbeat Elizabeth pulled Tommy against her in return, wrapping her arms around him and resting her hands on the back of his neck, fingertips just grazing his skin. Tommy let his cheek rest against her temple, soft and warm to the touch.

She pressed her head into his shoulder and breathed in his cologne where it clung to the cotton of his suit, a heavy and woodsy flagrance, new and expensive. There were others scents there as well, ones she recognised. The smell of horse that he'd always had, an ode to the gentle soul inside him that cared about those animals like they were his flesh and blood. She also recognised the sharp hint of tobacco and alcohol that followed him, something he'd come to gain as they'd grown up. Elizabeth wondered what she smelt of, whether he could notice the new perfume she'd bought in London, what things he could recognise from before.

She could feel his chest rise and fall, the pulse in his neck, his breath against her hair. Nothing had ever felt sweeter. To not only know he was alive, but to feel that life coursing through him, was overwhelming. After years of uncertainty and fear that was always there, hidden at the back of her mind, Elizabeth felt in that moment, for however briefly, like they were finally safe again. She could hug him, and he could hug her back, and it felt like a sign, a symbol of hope, of Tommy telling her that things would be alright in the end. Even if they weren't now, one day it will be alright again.

He pulled away with a small smile and left her standing there, watching, as he opened the door and closed it behind him. The busy noise of outside pierced through the building, but once the door slammed shut she was left in thick silence.

* * *

(26/05/2020)


	5. Chapter 4

**12 May 1919**   
**Morning**

"So who do you think stole the guns?" Winston Churchill asked, leaning back in his chair. "The Fenians or the communists?"

"If it is the IRA Fenians, I will find them and find the guns." Inspector Campbell responded to the question with a vigour, clutching his hat heatedly in his hands, "if it is the communists, I will find them and find the guns. If it is common criminals, I will find them and find the guns. To me there is no distinction between any of the above."

He looked back up at Churchill after finishing his proclamation, breathing with excitement and passion. The look in the eyes of the man opposite made him swallow his pride in embarrassment. Churchill was unimpressed.

"We chose you because you are effective, but remember this, Mr Campbell." He leaned forward, pointing a finger at him. "This is England, not Belfast. Bodies thrown in the rivers, wash up in the papers here. We must keep the existence of these stolen guns out of the news, otherwise we're simply advertising them for sale."

He kept his voice calm, but there was a warning behind his words, a message to Campbell should he choose not to follow instructions.

"If there are bodies to be buried, dig holes and dig them deep. I want everything accounted for, down to the last bullet."

"It will be done, Sir, I promise you."

"Very good." Churchill returned to his work in front of him and Campbell had decided it was time to leave when he spoke up again, "do you have a plan Inspector? One that doesn't involve digging?"

"I have several plans, Churchill, Sir." He moved from one foot to the other, twisting his hat in his hands as he decided what idea to put forward first. "There's a girl, she just arrived here in Birmingham after a few years away, has close relations to the common criminals under investigation. I hope I might find a way to use her."

Winston Churchill's eyes flicked up to Campbell and, though his mouth didn't move, there was a laughter behind his eyes.

"And how do you imagine you'll managed that? Is it likely she'll betray them?"

"No, Sir." He replied, deflating.

"This woman, is there a place she frequents? Threatening isn't always the best solution, Inspector, sometimes befriending can work just as well."

"I am told all her family are dead Sir, I expect it likely she pays a weekly visit to the graveyard."

"Very good, Inspector, you're learning."

The Inspector nodded and, sensing the meeting was at its end, removed the necessary files from his folder for Winston Churchill's inspection, leaving the carriage. As the door was closing he could swear he heard the man murmur something about 'more bloody graves', before the door was locked behind him.

**Evening**

Elizabeth entered the Shelby kitchen, sighing heavily as she dumped her bag onto the table to empty the potatoes she'd bought earlier. Ada was up by the window, chopping carrots in the last, red glow of the evening and opposite Elizabeth on the table, Polly paused her mixing of a bowl of batter to stare up at her. She was placing the vegetables down on the table with more than necessary force.

"What's wrong with you?" Aunt Polly asked, leaning back in her chair. She looked up, clearly glad to have been asked, desperate to get her worries of her chest.

"I had a very strange conversation at work today."

"With who?" Polly asked, crossing her arms to get comfortable.

"Freddie Thorne." It did not go missed by Elizabeth when Ada paused in her chopping to listen to their conversation, looking over her shoulder slightly at the mention of Freddie's name.

"Why was it strange?"

"For many reasons," she muttered, removing the last potato and sitting down into the chair to start her story. "When he walked in to get a drink, and saw me behind the bar, it was like he'd seen a ghost. I said as much to him and he laughed! And you know why?" She looked pointedly at Polly, her hands shaking slightly, "because he fucking thought I was!"

"Watch your language Eliza," Polly chided.

Instead of heading her words, Elizabeth stood up suddenly, slamming her palms on the table.

"Watch my fucking language? Did you not hear what I said? He thought that I was dead."

She stopped her self suddenly, pulling her hand across her face as she took a racking breath, eyes widening with some kind of realisation.

"Harry said it as well, said all of Small Heath thought I wasn't coming back. Fuck, even Tommy said it. That means you can't have missed it Polly, you know everything that goes on round here." There were tears in her eyes as she stared Polly down. "Why did you let them all believe it?"

"Why did I let them believe it?" Polly was standing now as well, voice raised and on the defensive after Elizabeth's outburst. "You know why Eliza? Because I believed it myself. I believed it myself! You stopped writing for six months, what else were we supposed to think?"

"It doesn't mean I'm dead though! You could have found out easily, even fucking Tommy knew I wasn't dead for God sakes. If I had died, you'd know Polly, you'd bloody know. I've had that letter myself, don't forget it."

Elizabeth was leant over on the table, glaring up at the woman opposite. Behind the pair of them, Ada was watching, eyes flicking between the two like they were playing a game of catch, but today they were throwing loaded words and not a ball.

"I'd know? Eliza there are countless mothers in this city alone that can tell you for a penny that it's not a fucking letter you should wait for. They get lost, they never get written. You know what it's like out there, how hard it was to keep track and make sure the right fucking reports get filled. And what do you mean, Tommy knew? You wrote every month for nearly four years and then, just like that, you stopped. So of course I had my suspicions. Dead, dying, never coming home, it all boils down to the same thing. It's hard to disprove rumours you believe yourself."

Polly was glaring across at her, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. Elizabeth was still leaning on the table, but her head had dropped and the fire that had been there seconds ago, was gone. Ada could only stare.

"Polly.."

"And why does it matter so much to you? Hmm? Why the fuck do you think it's okay to shout at me?"

"Because it's like they've moved on!" She stood back up, and though her voice was raised, it broke at the end, the pain behind the anger surfacing. "This is my home, Polly. I know every inch of it, I've lived here all my life, but now I'm back I feel like I don't know any of it. It's like I've landed in- God- bloody Moscow or somewhere. You all look at me like you don't know me, people walking down the streets, people I know. It matters because it's like I did fucking die and you've all moved on and left me behind."

Something in Polly softened at her words, and she uncrossed her arms to reach across the table, squeezing Elizabeth's hand.

"It's like that for all of us, Eliza. This isn't the place we knew either, I promise you're not the only who feels left behind. I just want to know why you stopped writing. Why so suddenly? It hurt darling, it hurt me when you stopped, that's all."

The pair sat back down in there seats, the fight dissolving as quickly as it had arrived, a not uncommon occurrence between the women. Elizabeth looked guilty and upset, blinking back her tears.

"I'm sorry, Polly, I know I shouldn't of stopped, it was just..." She took a deep breath, "the war ended, the boys came home, and suddenly you were writing about all of you together, even if it was different, and I was just so tired. Tired of all of it. It was hard to write when I was still out there, and yet it was even harder to think about coming home. I'm sorry Polly, truly."

And the look the women shared told each other that the matter was settled.

"You said there were many reasons?"

"For what?"

"For why the conversation was strange. What else did he say?" Elizabeth laughed at that, shaking her head.

"It doesn't seem half as important now, but when we were talking, he mentioned something. Since when did Freddie and Tommy hate each other Pol? How did that happen?"

Polly laughed as well, but more bitterly than Elizabeth, relaxing back into her seat again and mixing her bowl of batter as she mulled over the question.

"Freddie has very deep political views. Remember how he used to go on about his communism before the war? It's even more now he's back. He's utterly devoted."

Ada was the one to reply, coming over from her neutral spot at the back of the kitchen. Elizabeth couldn't help but raise her eyebrows at the girl's wistful words, the way she sighed slightly as she talked about the man, a small smile playing at her lips. She would address that later.

"Strange, they always used to get on so well. Things change, I supposed, as we've established today." Elizabeth moved over to a drawer to get out a peeler for her potatoes, the cooking slowly getting back to swing in the room. After a few minutes of silence Polly spoke back up again,

"Eliza," She asked, looking at the young woman as she poured her batter into a muffin tray to make Yorkshire Puddings. "What did you mean when you said 'Tommy knew', you never answered my question."

Elizabeth blushed, paying close attention to the cold vegetables in her hand, not daring to look up.

"I didn't mean anything Polly."

"Don't lie, Eliza, what's going on?" Ada piped up, a sly grin across her face.

_I'll get you back for that_ , Elizabeth thought.

"I, uh, I don't know how to explain."

"God, you wrote to him didn't you!" Polly exclaimed, throwing a tea towel down in annoyance. "For how long? Just the six months you decided you didn't feel like writing to us?"

"No Polly, of course not. I've been writing to him since the start." She looked up suddenly, clapping a hand to her mouth. "I can't believe I told you two that!"

Ada whistled in surprise and the two of them turned their full attention to the flustered Elizabeth.

"Tell us more," Polly goaded, gesturing with her hands .

"You can't tell anyone else, I beg you." The two women nodded and she accepted defeat, opening up to them,

"George made me promise to write to him every week when he was gone, and I agreed. When the boys went I only said I'd write to Tommy once a month, just like I said to you when I left, but then after- after George died I couldn't bear to stop writing every week so I started sending more letters to Tommy instead. Only he, well he-" Elizabeth cut off, stabbing one of the potatoes heatedly. She looked back up, "he promised he'd write back, but he never fucking did. Not once. A letter every week for more than fifty months and nothing back."

There was a silence in the room when she finished, so she stabbed the potato again for good measure before she threw the knife down and looked at Aunt Polly. The woman looked angry.

"The bastard. That bloody bastard." She hissed, "so that's why things are so off between you. I assumed it was the time apart, and the things you've been through, you're not the same people you knew, which is still partly true I suppose. But this?" She walked forward and pulled Elizabeth into an embrace. "I'm so sorry my darling, I'm so sorry."

She wrapped her arms around Polly and pressed her face into her neck, willing herself not to cry. Once she was sure the possibility of that had passed, she pulled away and smiled strongly.

"It's alright Pol. These things happen. I'm alright."

The conversation drifted to other things across the evening as they made their dinner and fed it to the little ones, but Elizabeth didn't miss the glances they gave her the rest of the night. Pitiful and sad looks, so often that she desperately wanted to climb up on a chair and scream at them that she was alright. Maybe if she shouted loud enough, she'd believe it herself.

It was sometime before Elizabeth was able to get Ada by herself that night, not until the two of them were tucking one of John's sleeping babies into bed.

"'Night, night Rupert," She hummed, placing a kiss on the little boy's head, "sweet dreams darling."

Ada moved to go but Elizabeth caught her arm and pulled her back down onto the bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping child by whispering her next words,

"So how long have you and Freddie been a thing?"

Ada blushed furiously, opening and closing her mouth in some kind of denial.

"How? How did..? Oh God, never mind that, please just don't tell Tommy alright? Please Eliza!' Ada whispered desperately, gripping her hands.

Elizabeth chuckled lightly and shook her head,

"We're not exactly on speaking terms right now, Ada, so don't worry. And even if we were, I promise I wouldn't ever tell." She could see the woman visibly relax, a long breath release from her lungs. "So? Details please? We haven't had a conversation like this for a long time so I need you to talk my ear off, you have my full permission."

Ada giggled, squeezing her hands again and smiling. Elizabeth couldn't help but smile back, the hushed conversation a welcome reminder to times past, when the two of the would lie awake at night, spilling all kinds of secrets over a stolen bottle of gin.

"Oh Eliza, you don't know how much I like him. It was very unexpected, you know, we wrote a few times when he was away, but not much, and yet as soon as he was back, something changed between us. He's utterly gorgeous Eliza, so smart, so strong and he's the only man in all of Small Heath, Hell, in all of Birmingham in fact, that's not afraid of my brothers. That's why I love him."

"Love? Is my little Ada in love?" Elizabeth laughed along with her, Ada's young innocence very much infectious.

"Completely and utterly, Eliza, completely and utterly!"

* * *

(09/06/2020)


	6. Chapter 5

_**24 Sept.** _ _**  
**_ _**1915** _ _**  
**_ _**Albert, France** _ _  
_

_Tommy,_

_I was thinking this morning of what to write to you. It's not been an eventful week and I was lacking anything interesting, when I met two young girls playing in the town streets, beneath the Notre-Dame de Brebières- where the Leaning Virgin is._

_I'm sure you've heard of her, apparently she's like folklore among you boys._

_Anyway, these two little girls are the daughters of a local farmer who came up for market today. They have the whitest hair I've ever seen. It's almost like someone's managed to find a way to wear sun rays- you know the kind you see breaking through the clouds when you're standing on top of a hill? They have very pale skin to match, though I don't doubt they will be brown like the rest of the village before long._ _Hard work in the sun hasn't caught up with them yet and it's very endearing._

_These little girls were running around, playing a game I thought I recognised, which is why I took interest._

_I was sitting with Emma and Nessie at the time, playing our own game of cards, but I was losing and desperate to find a quick way out before I was at risk of having to give Emma my best bar of soap (you know how terrible I am at Poker). I excused myself with the reason to go after the girls and find out what they were playing._

_It was a simple little game, they'd involved other children in it by the time I got over- one where some of the group chased the others, and if they were caught they were sent to a sort of prison. In their case it was a hole in a bush where_ _lots of young children can fit in quite nicely._

_The villagers are always welcoming, but the children most of all. I think, in their naivety, they see as as more of a novelty that anything serious. Dressed in strange clothing, with strange accents and terrible French to match (really- you'd laugh at how bad my French is still), they end up liking us a lot._ _It took a bit of time to get them to fully explain the rules, but it was a good waste of an afternoon once they let the lot of us get involved._

_I realised I recognised the game because it was something we used to play when we were younger, but instead of in a beautiful French town, it was in the mud of Charlie's yard, and I think we called it something like coppers and thieves. I hope you appreciate the irony of that as much as I do. It seems we were destined from children to end up how we are._

_We were very proud of ourselves, making up the game,_ _but it turns out even little girls in France play it, so we weren't really that clever were we? Anyway, I suppose I must have been about eight, so a bit older than the girls, whose names are Heloise and Camille by the way (from what I could gather anyway)._ _It means you and Freddie would have been thirteen. God, we were young weren't we?_

_Once I persuade the children to let_ _me and the other girls join in we were hardly allowed to stop. The little Heloise also seems to have taken a shine to me. She refused to leave my side all afternoon, but it was a price worth paying to get a chance to play._

_I'm sure if the matron had seen us trying to hide in that bush and running after screaming children she would have thrown a fit, so it's lucky she wasn't there. The whole time we played I couldn't help thinking about when the three of us would play it back at home. I was always a copper, which I took to be a great offence at the time- and still do really._

_I still had so much fun though, regardless of who I had to be, though I would never have admitted it._ _You boys would always be thieves, making us girls chase you around. But it was good because_ _Ada, Martha and I were faster than you lot for a very long time._

_I'm pretty sure we stopped playing that game within the year, moving on to whatever else took our interest, but it was enjoyable while it lasted._

_After we finished playing and the children had been collected by their parents, we headed back to our lodgings._

_It was our first day off duty here in Albert, so let me tell you about this town that I've spent the last week in._ _Perhaps you've already been here?_

_In my last letter I said we were leaving Doullens, and by now we have already spent a week here in Albert. The hospital is just outside the town, and our tents are pitched next to it, so today is the first day we've had any time, or ability, to see the place. It's very beautiful. We are staying in an old school house that hasn't been used for a while. The building is probably a hundred years old, but I like it. The rooms are comfortable and the windows are big- it was lovely to wake up to warm sunshine on my face._

_As_ _I write this letter to you, I'm sitting on the desk that's right in front of a window. Before it grew dark, I could see fields outside and a eventually some woodland, where, from the looks of it, there is a brook. Hopefully_ _we will visit that tomorrow._ _We only have two more days off before it's another week of work, but it would be nice to see as much of the town as possible._

_I'm sharing a room with Nessie, and behind me she's complaining that I need to turn the lamp off so she can sleep, so my letter needs to come to an end. Shit. Ignore the ink that's spilt across the paper, I'll have to try and write around it._ _She just threw a pillow at me._ _I will finish quickly to avoid more pillows._

_As I was saying, Albert is really beautiful. The Notre-Dame de Brebières is a church in the middle of the town, and on the steeple is a gold stature of the Virgin Mary that was knocked over from artillery shell. The soldiers call her the Leaning Virgin. But likr I said I'm sure you've heard of her._ _When the sun shines on her it's a wonderful sight._

_There are a lot of trees around the town. Thick, twisted ones with lovely, green leaves that will be gone by the time we're finished here._ _The_ _streets are cobbled and the buildings are all so old they look like they could collapse any minute._

_I wish you were here Tommy. We could play with the children under the church and then go for a walk down to the river I can see from my room. I'd like that, and I hope you would too._

_Have I mentioned how unbelievably hot it is here? I can't stand the heat, especially in this uniform. I suppose I'll just have to cope won't I._

_Missing you, as always,  
_ _Ever yours  
_ _Liza_

* * *

(09/06/2020)


	7. Chapter 6

**14 May 1919**

Elizabeth awoke to a cold room, the sound of rain and wind whistling against her window told her a spring storm had arrived. She dressed quickly and warmly, pulling on thick stockings and a heavy, cotton dress. As she left her bedroom she saw that the flowers she bought fresh last night were still in a vase on the kitchen table, ready to take with her. Elizabeth wrapped herself up in a big coat and a scarf, readying for her trip to the graveyard in the early morning. She wrapped the flowers up in brown paper and locked her door behind her, heading out to brave the weather.

Her mother had passed away on the fourteenth of December, eighteen years ago, and on the same day, every month since, she'd gone to visit her. At first she went with her father and her brother but then, eventually, she went alone. Whilst she was in France, Polly had promised to take the tradition up herself, providing Elizabeth with comfort to know they weren't alone. This was her first time visiting in several years.

She had an empty morning, her shift at the Garrison wouldn't start until the afternoon today, but it would take her late into the night, so she was keen to get some quiet time alone before her busy evening. Harry Fenton hadn't lied when he'd said the Garrison had changed. The men would come earlier, drink more and stay later. She'd worked four shifts already and not a single one hadn't ended in a fight or an upturned table.

Drunk men were bad enough, drunk and haunted men were worse.

The streets were empty as Elizabeth made her way out of Small Heath, the few people she saw would rush past her, heads bent to keep the rain from their faces. It didn't take her long to reach Charlie's yard, where she would follow the Cut up a hill and to her family, but she stopped on the way to greet Curly and Charlie. She'd seen the pair of them about the Garrison and Watery Lane in the past week, but it would nice to speak and have a conversation with them.

Elizabeth was walking out of the building they'd taken shelter in whilst talking, when she collided with someone walking in, sending her spinning around in the wet mud. Tommy caught her by her arms before she could fall, pulling Elizabeth close so that she could regain her footing. She had to stick one arm out and around his back to avoid the flowers being crushed between them, leaving her pressed up against him with a hand on his chest, his own hands holding onto her elbows. She looked up at Tommy, whose hat kept the rain from falling in his eyes. Eyes that shone bright against the murky sky.

"You alright?" He asked, not moving. Elizabeth nodded up at him, breathless from the collision, "where you heading?"

"Visiting family," she replied, managing to find her voice. She tilted her head in the direction of the graveyard, to indicate that she meant visiting their graves, but she knew Tommy would understand. There was a kind of pity in his eyes that she recognised as he looked down at her. It made Elizabeth sad.

"Do you want company?" She stilled slightly at that, surprised by the offer. She knew it was just Tommy being kind, the look he gave her told Elizabeth enough to know he couldn't really come, but it was still unusual of him to ask and it made her heart beat faster, until she was sure he'd be able to hear it.

"You know I won't be alone, Tommy, but thank you."

"Ok, just try not to get to cold, ey." She smiled at him, relaxing in his arms, before suddenly remembering how close they were standing. He was warmer than she'd realised, so when she pulled away the cold air hit her chest, forcing Elizabeth to wrap her coat back around her.

"Don't think I'll have much luck with that."

They stood for another beat, Elizabeth smiling gently at him, before she walked away, glancing back over her shoulder to see him still watching her as she rounded a corner.

Another surprise came when she finally made her way to her three gravestones, seeing an older man knelt nearby. He was sitting before Miss Cartridge's grave, one she'd never seen occupied before. As she knelt herself, and murmured her prayers and blessings, Elizabeth was conscious of him watching her. She looked to the side and was happy to find him startled when he noticed her staring.

It hadn't been hard to find out where her family's graves were, and what day Elizabeth Scott visited them. Mr Fenton had provided all the information Chester Campbell needed to know. He'd arrived early in the morning, glad to see she wasn't there yet. He had spent some time inspecting the graves, noticing the contrast between the three. The one closest to where he now knelt was the oldest, kept as tidying as possible, but still not free from the elements, which had left it looking weather-worn. It belonged to her mother, Dorelia Scott, and featured little other than her name and dates. The one along was Edward Scott's, her father, and the furthest away belonged to her brother. George Scott's grave was the newest, still bright and clean, with his military station engraved below his name. An old grave beside the three, with grass growing up in front of it, sunk slightly into the ground, belonged to a Margaret Cartridge. It was enough to tell him that clearly no one visited her, so he took his position there, just as footsteps behind him told him he wasn't alone. He watched as she knelt down, splitting her bouquet of flowers between the three and whispering some prayer. She turned to look at him suddenly and he startled, not expecting it.

"Do I know you?" Elizabeth Scott asked, catching Chester Campbell of guard.

"I- uh- no, you don't. Do I know you?" He replied, trying to adopt the same, defensive tone.

She laughed lightly, a sweet sound, and held out her hand for him to shake.

"My name is Elizabeth Scott, I live nearby." He accepted it hesitantly, looking her over.

She was beautiful, to say the least. She had deep-set, brown eyes that made him feel like she was seeing every part of him. Her cheekbones were high, her face slender and defined, but there was something inherently kind about the way she looked. Dark, red hair fell to mid-chest, heavy from the rain, which ran in rivulets down her face, a drop falling from the corner of her mouth.

"Chester Murray." He replied, deciding it was safe enough to use his first name, but choosing to adopt his mother's maiden name as well. He noticed her looking strangely at the flowers he'd picked quickly on the way here, tossed at Miss Cartridge's headstone.

"I normally give her roses, but your flowers look nice." Chester froze, snapping his eyes back up at her. He cursed Fenton for not warning him that she knew this woman as well, getting ready to walk away, when she continued. "I didn't mean to offend you, Mr Murray, I hope you don't mind that I give them to her, only she's kept my mother company all these years. I just like to thank her."

He let out a breath, smiling up at her, relieved his game wasn't over.

"Thank you, Miss Scott, that's kind of you."

"Can I ask how you know Maggie? I've never seen anyone visit before."

"I'm a distant cousin," he replied, reciting what he'd planned, "we were close as children, but grew apart as we got older."

"Have you moved to Birmingham?"

He tried not to look too annoyed at the questions she was asking, not keen to answer things he had to be careful with.

"No, I'm working in the area, but I thought it right to pay a visit or two to her after all these years." Elizabeth looked satisfied with that answer, smiling at him, something Chester found he wanted to make her do more often. "Where do you live in the city?"

"In Small Heath, best place if you're looking for a drink. Come to the Garrison, I work there most days."

"What about the gangs?" He asked, testing the waters. Her smile dropped.

"What about them?" Elizabeth's answer told him all he needed to know about where her allegiance lay. The dark look she gave him was threatening, daring him to ask more.

_Damn you,_ he thought, _they don't deserve your loyalty._

"I meant nothing by it, just I've heard people talk is all, I wouldn't want to get hurt."

"There's nothing to fear as long as you keep your head down." Her look had softened slightly, but there was still a coldness between them, and one that wasn't because of the weather. Campbell could tell she was testing him as much as he was testing her, he just hoped Elizabeth didn't realise it as well. "And you'd be safe with me at the pub."

"What do you mean?" Campbell asked, hoping to get more from the conversation.

"Only that I'm good at keeping the boys in line, I've had a lot of practice." She laughed again and leant forward suddenly, clutching onto her flowers so they weren't swept away by the strong gust of wind. He hadn't bothered with his own flowers and had to watch as they went flying away across the graveyard. "Oh your poor flowers. Here, take a few of mine."

"I wouldn't want to take them away from you-" He began, but she insisted, pushing a few into his hands to lie against Miss Cartridge's grave.

"Where did you serve?" Elizabeth asked as she rose slightly to rearrange her blossoms, "if you don't mind me asking, that is."

Campbell ground his teeth slightly, watching her through the corner of his eye. He could easily confess the truth, but a part of him thought that if he did, he'd likely never get far befriending her. Another part was desperate for the chance to finally not have someone look at him so ashamed.

"I was a Second Lieutenant, fought in the Somme, Passchendaele, Amiens.." He was simply listing battles he had heard men talk of, ones he imagined it reasonable he'd be at, but stopped as Elizabeth paused at the mention of the Battle of Amiens, turning to look over at him.

"Amiens, really?" He nodded slowly, watching as her eyes unfocused "I was at Abbeville for the last two years of the war, just North of Amiens, though I'm sure you know where it is. Perhaps we were there at the same time? We treated your boys in more serious conditions, first priority patients. It was an ugly fight, you were very brave."

Chester couldn't help but smile, warming to the praise.

"That's very kind of you." He stood up, brushing his hands on his coat and picking up his hat. "I'm afraid I have to go, but I hope to see you soon."

"You'll come get a drink at the Garrison, yes?" She asked, shaking his hand again.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be there soon enough."

**15 May 1919**

The street was full as Elizabeth made her way to the Shelby house, the road a state of chaos. Around her children were crying, men and women were trying to gather belongings strewn across the mud, some people even slumped unconscious against the walls. She checked on a man as she past, mumbling half-awake as his wife sobbed into his shoulder, desperately trying to get him to stand up.

"What happened?" She asked, crouching down to inspect the wound on his head.

"Coppers," the lady cried, hot tears of anger slipping down her cheeks, "torn down our bloody houses, pulled us all out 'a bed. Said it was in agreement with the Peaky fucking Blinders."

"Jesus," Elizabeth whispered, picking up a towel beside her to apply pressure to his cut. She got the woman to hold it tight and when she looked at Elizabeth's face, recognition and anger dawned across it.

"You tell those boys we pay them for their protection, good and proper, and all they do is fuck off and let this happen. Your bloody pub wasn't even touched." The woman went back to crying, pressing the towel against the man's head as she helped him up and back inside their house. Elizabeth carried on walking down the road, not unconscious of the looks she was receiving. One week back in Small Heath and they all remembered who she was affiliated with. She had forgotten what being connected to the Peaky Blinders was like.

She opened the door to the Shelby house, entering the kitchen to find Polly at the table. The doors were open into the Den and men were moving in and out, inside almost as busy as the street.

"Why did you let this happen?" Elizabeth asked Polly, shrugging of her coat.

"Oh thank God you're alright," she replied, rushing over to embrace her.

"I'm fine, they only came down this road, I didn't even know 'til I got here." She sat down at the table with Aunt Polly. "Some woman down the street said it was in agreement with the Peaky Blinders? Is she right?"

"No, the Coppers lied to them, made it look like it was our fault because the boys were away."

"Where were they?"

Elizabeth buttered a slice of toast that Polly set down in front of her, along with a steaming cup of tea.

"Dealing with the Lee's."

She looked up, grimacing. Polly took note of the look and rolled her eyes along with her. The Lee's had caused trouble with them for as long as she could remember, a deep-set rivalry between the two families. Elizabeth glowered and took an angry bite of her toast as a memory came to mind.

_It was seven years ago, Eliza and Ada had gone looking for wild fouls that Curly had seen in a nearby field, when some Lee girls appeared from behind a group of trees. After noticing Ada and Eliza were Shelby's, they started yelling all kinds of mocking things, some in Romani, which the two of them understood, but also in Gaelic. The shouting had escalated quickly, both sides yelling at each other, and though there were twice as many Lee girls, Ada and Eliza decided it would be a good idea to try and fight them. They'd both gone home to Polly with bruises, (and the biggest telling-off they'd ever received), but the other four girls had run away in tears, with bleeding noses. Tommy had laughed until he'd cried when Eliza told him, much to the annoyance of Aunt Pol._

"I know you're thinking about when you and Ada decided to be Blinders for the day, Eliza, but don't even go there." Polly spoke up, snapping her from the dream.

"The Lee family are trouble Polly, you know it, any deal with them isn't worth one Bob"

"Believe me, I know," the woman said, sighing, "Johnny Dogs was the one who organised it though, he's riding with them."

"Johnny Dogs is in town?" Elizabeth asked, lightening up at the change in conversation. He was a kind man, and one she got on well with, it was always nice to see him.

"Aye, I'm sure you'll see him around. Anyway," Polly stood up and fetched a box from the counter that Elizabeth hadn't noticed until now, setting it on the kitchen table. "I was sorting through some things in my house and I came across this, it's your old art things that you gave to me to look after."

Her breath left her as Polly lifted the lid, staring down into years worth of memories. She brushed her fingers over metal tins of watercolour, thick notepads, paintbrushes, bundles of pencils tied together with string. Lifting them out gingerly, Elizabeth laid the supplies across the table, taking in the bright paints and her sketchbooks that were overflowing with drawings, spread out across the kitchen surface like a scattered rainbow. She had bought only graphite to France, sketched quick drawings of the men and the country.

It had been a long time since she'd painted, and Polly seemed to think the same.

"I always loved to watch you paint, you looked just like your mother."

* * *

(11/06/2020)


	8. Chapter 7

**16 May 1919**

"Do you want beer?" Elizabeth asked as she approached Tommy.

He was stood so close to the fire that a scalding heat, bleeding from the bright flames, prickled against her bare skin when she came close.

Tommy simply shook his head, not moving, watching the burning fire.

She'd been serving at the bar when Finn had walked in a few hours ago, climbing onto the counter to take their photo of the King. Despite Elizabeth's shouts and the cloth she'd thrown to try and get him down, he'd snatched it and run off anyway. Chasing after the young Shelby, she ended up bumping into Tommy, who explained why they needed the photo. He told her and Fenton to serve beer to the crowd who would gather, and three buckets of it later she had come over to Tommy.

He was still, the only movement was his hand, moving up and down to take lungful's of his cigarette, barely acknowledging Elizabeth's presence. Not being told to leave, however, and knowing that everyone one who wanted a drink had one, she decided to put the bucket down and soak in the heat for herself. The air was heavy with smoke, and she knew her clothes would smell for weeks, but the warmth was worth it.

"It's beautiful, isn't it." She sighed quietly, watching the dancing flames, flickering about each other like lovers in a trance.

She hadn't thought he'd heard her, silence permeating the air for a long time, until he breathed out a cloud of smoke and turned his head to look at her.

"Like you." She froze, hands outstretched to the fire, a blush spreading across her cheeks that Elizabeth was glad he wouldn't notice in the dark. "It matches your hair."

He flicked his cigarette into the fire and walked away into the night, leaving her frozen where she stood.

She felt angry.

A part of her wanted to chase after him like he was Finn, to shake him until he said something that made sense, maybe even throw a cloth at him.

How could he kiss her on that platform, all those years ago, and then ignore every letter she'd sent him since? How could he not meet her when she came home, but then hug her like his life depended on it when they finally saw each other? How could he be blunt, cold, rude, but then tell her, so gently, that she's beautiful?

Elizabeth felt tired, her head ached from the long day of work and the bright fire she was looking into. She just wanted to sleep. She just wanted to forget today.

**18 May 1919**   
**Morning**

Elizabeth sat, nursing a scalding cup of tea, when Ada finally made her way downstairs.

"Good of you to finally join us," Polly said, not lifting her eyes from the paper. "Where have you been all day."

"Sleeping," Ada replied, sitting down with a plate of toast. "Why are you reading the paper?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Polly had a spyglass, and was slowly making her way down the page, still not looking up at the rest of the women in the room.

"I've never seen you read the paper, I've only ever seen you light fires with them."

"Ada's right, Polly, it's not like you." Elizabeth added her own comment, making eye contact with Ada and smirking slightly.

The girl started spreading thick layers of jam onto her toast, much to Elizabeth's disgust, eating it as she listened to Polly.

"BSA are on strike," she said, dropping the newspaper and picking up her cup. "Miners are on strike, the IRA are killing our boys, ten a day." Elizabeth watched as Polly paused, her cup inches from her mouth, staring at Ada.

"What?" Ada asked, as confused as Elizabeth.

"Stand up." Polly demanded, suddenly, putting her cup down and dragging Ada away from the table.

She followed the pair with her eyes, shrugging as Ada looked to her for an explanation.

"Side on." She moved the girl to the side and grabbed her breast, squeezing.

"What are you doing, Pol?" Ada shrieked, Elizabeth laughing along with her.

She put her own cup of tea down and went over to the pair, laughing.

"Why are you feeling Ada up, Pol?"

"Ada, how late are you?"

The silence in the room was deafening, both the girl's laughter dying quickly. Polly was staring straight at Ada, who had teared up.

"Not long," she whispered, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Polly look didn't falter, and Ada collapsed under the pressure, starting to sob. "It's been three months," she cried, tears rolling down her cheeks as Elizabeth and Polly gasped.

"Ada, you fool. How could you not have told me?" Polly gripped the girl's arm tightly, but she continued to sob, any words she was trying to say getting lost in the tears.

"We'll take it to mine," Elizabeth said, trying to break the tension. She went over to the cupboard to grab their coats. "Where no one can overhear us."

They made their way back to her apartment as quickly as possible, walking through back alleys that kept them hidden from any lurking Peaky boys. Once inside, Polly and Ada settled around her table as Elizabeth rushed about, making them fresh, hot tea and lighting a fire. The room was warm and cosy by the time she sat back down, the spring chill chased from her house.

Ada had dried her tears, but was still sniffling into her cup as Polly repeated question.

"Why didn't you tell me, Ada?"

"I didn't know, Aunt Pol."

"Bullshit!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms into the air in outrage.

Elizabeth reached a hand across the table to squeeze Polly's hand and calm her down.

"Ada, sweetheart, you must have noticed." She asked, trying to keep the women as calm as possible.

"You know what I'm like, Pol." She sniffed, rubbing her eyes, "I'm never regular, so it didn't even cross my mind the first month. I noticed a month ago but I just thought it was the stress, things have been so different with the boys back- when you worry about them dying across the sea you forgot what it’s like to worry about them dying down the street.” She took a shaky break, “I went to the doctor and got iron tablets to help with it."

"But they didn't work," Polly whispered, finishing Ada's sentence as she began to cry again.

Elizabeth moved her chair nearer to her, taking her in her arms.

"It's alright Ada, you're going to be alright."

"By the time I realised, it was too late." She sobbed, looking up at the two of them. "Because it is too late, isn't it? I can't get rid of it now, even if I wanted."

There was silence for a long time, except for Ada's muffled cries as she soaked Elizabeth's shoulder. Polly watched the two of them, a heartbroken look on her face.

"I know a woman, in Cardiff." Polly's voice was quiet, testing the room.

Elizabeth's eyes snapped back up to meet hers.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Pol."

"She’s very good-" Polly tried to continue, but she cut her off again.

"No, Polly. It's too fucking dangerous, and you know it. I won't let you."

They glared at each other, Polly sucking on her teeth and looking at Ada, who had sat back up.

"Whose is it?" Polly asked, diverting the subject.

"If I tell you," Ada said, taking a shallow breath, "you'll tell them and they'll cut him to pieces."

"Not if he marries you," Elizabeth glanced at Ada beside her to see how she reacted to Polly's words, knowing Freddie Thorne had left town after the house raids. "He will marry you, won't he?"

"I don't know where he is," Ada replied, meekly.

"My God," Polly hissed, shaking her head.

"He's gone away, Polly, but he'll come back."

"They don't come back."

"He will!" Ada exclaimed, starting to cry again, looking to Elizabeth for reassurance. "He's not like that, he promised! He'll come back; I know he will!"

"You know who it is?" Polly asked Elizabeth. She nodded, and Polly sighed, running a hand over her face, looking tired. "It's not good now, Ada, but the longer you leave, the worse it will get. Believe me, I know."

The two girls looked at her, shocked.

"I was 16, and I didn't dare tell anyone. In the end I did it myself. I did it to myself, and I almost died. And he didn't come back, because they never come back, Ada. Why should they? You know the words; you're a whore, your baby's a bastard. There's no word for the man who doesn't come back though."

Polly was crying as she leant forward to take Ada's hand.

"One day, on your wedding day, you'll have a good man on your arm, and you'll say:

'Polly, thank you for common sense.'

The woman that I know is in Cardiff, she‘s good, I know a friend’s daughter who went to her- we'll take the train at the end of the week and go to the castle after for a treat."

"Polly," Elizabeth begged, tears running down her cheeks, "I know him, I know he'll come back. He's a good man. It's too dangerous, Polly, please."

Ada took Elizabeth's hand with her free one, squeezing it gently.

"Thank you, Eliza, but I'll be alright. Will you tell Tommy?" Ada asked, turning to look at Polly, who nodded. "You can let him know I'll be at the Pictures if he wants to speak to me, though make it clear I don't want to speak to him."

With that, Ada left, kissing Elizabeth on the cheek and leaving the two other women alone together.

"Tommy won't be happy."

"I know," Polly sighed, putting her coat back on.

"Try to get him to see reason?" Elizabeth whispered in her ear, hugging Polly tightly.

"I'll try my best."

**Evening**

The door burst open as Tommy marched into the empty pub, Elizabeth pausing as she cleaned a table.

"You knew, and you didn't tell me?" He was angry, his voice raised as he walked over and slammed his hands down into the table she was cleaning, leaning forward.

"Sorry?" Elizabeth replied, scoffing.

She picked up the cloth and went to move past him, when he grabbed her bicep to stop her.

"You knew about Ada and Freddie, and you didn't fucking tell me."

"Yes, Tommy, I didn't tell you." She snapped, wrenching her arm free and walking over to the bar. "Because Ada has her own fucking life that's none of your business."

"None of my business? It is my business, Liza, and when I find him, I'll make my business killing him." Elizabeth met his icy glare with one of her own, shaking her head.

"Do you hear yourself? You used to be best friends, the three of us spent every fucking day together, and now you want to kill him?" She was shouting, pointing at Tommy, who stood with his eyebrows raised, arms crossed aggressively. "All because they didn't follow your every, bloody word!"

"Yes, that is exactly why, because they wouldn't be in this mess if they did." He wasn't shouting, yet, but his voice was raised in a way she recognised. A way that made grown men quiver, but not Elizabeth.

"You are not who you used be. You have no right to Ada's life, Tommy, because it's hers, not yours. You cannot control every person."

She had taken a step closer to him, staring up at his blue eyes, which had glazed over with a threatening anger.

"I learnt things, when I was in France, Liza, that if you don't take control, you don't survive." His words were quiet, the threat in his tone of voice clear, emphasising every word.

"You talk like I wasn't over there with you men," she spat back.

"You don't fucking understand what it was like."

"How dare you." Elizabeth hissed, backing away to look him over. "I saw things over there, Thomas, I did things that keep me awake at night. Don't fucking think I don't understand!"

Tommy was silent, staring at her with an unreadable look.

"You should have told me about Freddie," was all he had to say.

Elizabeth laughed bitterly, unsurprised.

"Whatever hellish road it is you're heading down, Tommy, I won't let you drag us down with you. I didn't tell you, because it was not my place, and I am sick of you trying to do whatever it is that you're trying to do. Now get, the fuck, out of this pub." She was calm as she talked, rolling the words out like a cold, sharp knife, refusing to back down.

"What did you say?" Tommy walked slowly up to her, closing the gap she'd created earlier.

He was close, his breath on her nose, his eyes scanning her face.

_If looks could kill,_ she thought.

"I'm not afraid of you." She surveyed his face as well, running over his cheeks, his nose, his lips. Lips that were so close to her as she breathed out her quiet words, chest heaving with heavy breaths. There was an electric tension between them. "You can't frighten me, not like every other person in this city. I will tell you one, last time. Get, the fuck, out of this pub."

"You should be scared of me." Tommy replied, his own eyes settling on her lips.

A part of her thought, for a heartbeat, that he was going to kiss her, as they stared at each other's mouths, inches apart. His breath was gentle against her cheek and his fingers brushed her wrist.

At that touch, though, something changed, and the moment was over as quickly as it began.

Tommy turned and walked out of the Garrison, slamming the door behind him with a force that shook the glass bottles on the bar.

Elizabeth half fell, leaning her back against the bar as she ran a shaking hand over her face and tried to breathe again. Whatever had happened in that moment, it had electrified her. She couldn't help the smile that crept up on her face, as foolish as it was.

_I get angry when compliments me_ , Elizabeth thought, _and yet I smile like a schoolgirl after we argue._

* * *

(18/06/2020)


	9. Chapter 8

**20 May 1919**

Arthur looked up as Elizabeth pushed open the door into their private room with her hip, her hands filled with drinks. He was inside with his brothers and some Blinders, playing a card game and drinking. Arthur looked up from the cards he was shuffling, as she entered, watching Tommy.

He knew the two had argued a few days ago and hadn't spoken since, so he wondered if there would be tension between them. Polly had been whispering about it to Ada as they'd made the dinner yesterday, Arthur stopping to listen at the kitchen doorway when he'd heard his brother's name mentioned. A woman that Polly got gossip from had been walking past the Garrison two day's ago, when she'd heard Elizabeth and Tommy shouting at each other from inside, about his sister and Freddie.

It was also how Arthur had found out that Ada was knocked up.

Nothing seemed strange between the two now, however, and Tommy even smiled at her as she walked in, setting two buckets on the table.

"Do you boys want any whiskey, or is the beer alright?"

"Beer's fine," Tommy replied, and Arthur's focus returned to the game, serving the cards.

Elizabeth put the bucket filled with beer onto the table and she poured their old drink into the other bucket as the boys talked.

"Why no whiskey, Tommy?" John asked, "are you expecting trouble?"

Tommy made no response, just looked at the cards Arthur had given him, a signal not to push any further.

"All right, 20 is the play, come on!" Arthur said, moving the subject on and putting his money in the middle of the table, Elizabeth taking a bucket and leaving.

The look on his brother's face, as he watched her leave, didn't go unnoticed to him.

"It's about time Tommy," John said, as he lent back next to Arthur, the two of them looking at their brother with raised eyebrows.

"Time for what?" Tommy replied, though it was clear he knew what they were talking about.

"Time you took yourself a woman." John was smiling, his toothpick spinning in his mouth, but Arthur didn't feel as happy.

He wouldn't claim to know what was going on in his brother's mind, Arthur imagined there were very few people who could even come close to understanding Tommy, but he knew what his brother felt for Elizabeth. He'd seen the way Tommy had looked at her for the last seven years, the way their friendship had changed to something else.

Him and John even had bets on the two getting married, until the war had happened.

And even then, as much as Tommy tried to hide it, the stack of letters he received every month, the way he'd bring Elizabeth up when the men were talking about their sweethearts, it didn't go unnoticed to Arthur. But he also knew that things weren't what they were, that war had done it's damage. Arthur knew more than most what the Flanders Blues could do to a man.

John bringing marriage up seemed risky to him, something that probably wasn't on his brothers mind at present.

"Just play the bloody hands," Tommy said, his voice uninterested, like he didn't care. Arthur felt relieved, more than anything.

"You stay the way you are Tommy. Remember what Dad used to say: fast women and slow horses-" Arthur slung an arm around John's neck and they lent closer.

"-will ruin a man's life!" They said together, laughing. Even their brother, stone-faced since France, smiled as well.

The sound of cars pulling up outside, however, pulled Arthur's focus from the brotherly interaction.

"Coppers?" John asked, setting their cards and cigarettes down on the table.

"No," Tommy replied, putting a hand out to keep them in their seats. "Someone we've been expecting."

Elizabeth had left the brother's room and was dealing with another man's order, when the doors to the Garrison swung open. Two men walked in, machine guns in their arms, and she felt a chill run through her.

"Holy shit." Harry swore from beside her, a hand reaching out to steady himself on the bar. "It's Billy Kimber."

Elizabeth watched as another man walked in, and though she didn't recognise his face, his name was enough for her to know that nothing good was going to come from him being here in Small Heath. He was a small man, slicked back hair and an unpleasant look on his face as he surveyed the silent room, men and whores alike backing away from the group.

"Is there any man named Shelby in here?" Kimber asked, as his attention reached where Elizabeth stood beside the bar. His eyes raked across her body, a small, but disgusting, smile playing on his lips and he looked away. She glanced at the private room, where she knew Tommy and his brothers were, waiting for them to walk out. There was no movement. A gunshot sent people screaming and ducking, Elizabeth herself flinching, pressing her back further into the bar. "I said, is there any man here named Shelby?"

It was then that the door opened, and Tommy walked out with his brothers and some men, barely acknowledging Billy Kimber.

"Harry, get these men a drink. Everyone else, go home." There was a scramble then, as people dashed from the pub, running from the doors and up the stairs. Elizabeth moved behind the bar to get the drinks ready with Harry.

"Do whatever they say, Eliza, it's not worth resisting." He whispered as he handed her a tray and, with a strange look, fled from the room as well.

She walked over slowly, placing the tray on the table.

"You go home," Tommy said, pointing to her as she came over. Elizabeth swallowed uneasily, unsure of what to do, not wanting to leave them alone with Kimber.

"But Harry said-"

"I said, go home." Tommy gave her a look, one that stopped any argument she might have had. He seemed concerned. She nodded at him, removing her apron hurriedly and walking to the back door.

"I've never approved of women in pubs, but when they look like that.." Kimber's voice drifted across to her as she gathered her things and shut the door behind her. Elizabeth didn't have a good feeling about that man.

**21 May 1919**

"I don't want to go to bed!" Finn shouted, stomping his foot and crossing his arms. Elizabeth rolled her eyes, tired. She'd been fighting with him on and off for the last hour, trying to get the young boy up to his room and in bed. Polly had gone out for the evening and had left her in charge of feeding and looking after Finn, but he was being difficult.

"Stop being childish Finn, I'm fed up now, it's time for you to go to bed." She put down the plates she was tidying up and turned to face him, resting her hands on her hips and raising her eyebrows at the stroppy boy, who was huffing dramatically.

"Tommy doesn't have to go bed this early! Or John, or Arthur!" Finn walked over to the table and pulled out a chair, sitting down in it with a big sigh. Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh, which angered him even more. "Don't laugh at me! It's not fair!"

"And don't you take that attitude with me! You have to get your sleep, Finn, just like Tommy did when he was your age." She scolded him, pointing to the doorway to try and get him to move.

"Still not fair! I'm not going until Tommy gets back."

"Your brother is a bad influence for you Finn." She snapped, fed up of his whining, "now go to bed or I'll tell Aunt Polly about this." Finn opened his mouth to complain again, but shut it quickly, looking at something behind Elizabeth.

She followed his gaze and saw Tommy standing in the doorway, lighting a cigarette. She cursed silently, wondering how much he heard.

"Are you giving Liza trouble, Finn?" He asked, looking at the young boy, whose defiance had died out quickly.

"I wanted to wait up for you, that's all." Finn whispered meekly, his eyes to the ground. Elizabeth felt bad, regretting her harsh words.

"I'm here now, so up to bed." Finn darted from his chair, running up to Tommy and giving him a quick hug. The older Shelby smiled gently and ruffled Finn's hair, before the boy darted up the stairs. Elizabeth dropped her hands from her hips and returned to tidying up.

"I'm a bad influence, ey?" Tommy asked as he came over.

She turned around to see him holding out another cigarette, which she accepted gladly. He struck a match and lit it as it rested between her lips.

"That was unkind of me."

"But it's true." He shrugged, sitting down at the table. She sighed, running a hand through her hair as she sat opposite.

"It's not true, I just got angry." She took a puff from her cigarette and looked at Tommy closely. He was sat casually, staring out the window as he smoked, but she could see the disbelief at her words. "He's like this every night, refusing to go to bed. Finn just wants to see you, Tommy, that's all."

Tommy nodded slowly, though she knew his acknowledgement was empty. Going to bed without a goodnight from his brothers was just something Finn would have to get used to.

"I remember you used to be as bad as he was, going to bed as the sun came up." Elizabeth said, trying to lighten the subject.

"Says you," Tommy turned to face her, smiling.

"No, I actually listened to my father when he told me to do things." she laughed, shaking her head. "You would just sneak out and throw stones at my window, trying to wake me up."

"I remember you enjoying that, actually."

"I did not!" She said, pointing at him. "I just wanted some bloody sleep!"

"Really?" He raised his eyebrows at her and she smiled, nodding playfully. They lapsed in silence for a while, filling the room with the smell of tobacco as they smoked, remembering times long gone. The sounds of Finn moving about upstairs eventually silenced, and the world through window had turned black by the time their cigarettes burnt down to nothing.

"Our discussion the other day, at The Garrison," he said, snuffing out his cigarette. Elizabeth nodded, slowly. "I've told Freddie, about our Ada."

"Why did you change your mind?" She asked, knowing it wouldn't have been something Tommy would even have thought of doing when they'd argued.

"He has a right to know, a chance to do the correct thing." A small smile played across her face as she looked at him.

"That's good of you, Tommy." He simply shook his head, turning so both his elbows were leant on the table.

"It's what I should of done, instead of getting angry at you and Ada." He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable, "and the things I said about France-"

"It's alright Tommy." Elizabeth said, cutting him off. She wasn't sure if she wanted to revisit that moment.

"No, let me talk. It wasn't alright of me, the shit you saw out there, it's no worse than what we went through, I know that. So I shouldn't have said what I did." It was as close to an apology as she knew he'd ever give, and she was grateful for it. Elizabeth lent across the table, taking his hand in hers. Tommy looked up, almost alarmed, but she simply squeezed it gently and let go, standing up.

"I'm going to bed myself, now Finn's asleep, so I'll say goodnight." She picked her coat up from the back of the chair and took her bag from the kitchen surface.

"I'll walk you home." Tommy said suddenly, standing up to leave with her.

"It's a perfectly safe walk, Tommy, I'll be alright." Elizabeth laughed, making her way to the front door.

"I know," He said, opening it and letting her step out ahead of him. "I just want to."

She couldn't argue with that, so she accepted the company, walking beside Tommy through the dark streets. He had lit another cigarette and the orange glow from it gave them a bit of light in the dark streets, like a lighthouse in the mist. They stopped, eventually, at the door leading to the stairs up to her flat. Elizabeth paused, trying to fish the keys out from her purse in the low light.

"Do you still like dancing?" Tommy asked suddenly. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, suspicious.

"Are you still as bad at it as you used to be?" Elizabeth retorted, unsure of what he wanted.

"Probably." She could just make out the smile on his face in the dark. "We're meeting Kimber at Cheltenham next week.

"You want me to come?" Elizabeth couldn't keep the surprise from her voice, abandoning the search for her keys to face him properly. "Do you need me to do something?"

"No." He shook his head, leaning against a wall and taking off his cap. "I want to take you to the races, that's all."

"I haven't got a dress nice enough for Cheltenham." She replied, trying to see if this was just some kind of game, that he would give up if she resisted too long.

"I can give you money for one, if you need." She sighed, crossing her arms and examining his face.

"You really want me to come with you?"

"I do." A light from a nearby window switched on, bathing them in a gentle, yellow glow. Tommy was looking down at her, from where he leant on the wall. There was a look in his blue eyes, one she hadn't seen in a long time, so long that Elizabeth forgot it even existed.

It was the same look he would give her when they'd sit and eat dinner alone in his office, the two of them talking until the early hours of the morning. The same look he'd give her when she used to come out of the Garrison, and he was waiting to take her somewhere for the evening. The same look as when they reached the point in the dance when the music slowed and the couple would come closer, a hand around her waist and fingers interlinked, their faces so close they could feel each other's breath. And he would look down at her, blue eyes sparking in a way only the sea did, filled with a secret only she could understand.

"I will get dress shopping then, Tommy, and you better practice your dancing, because I'm not having you tread on my toes like you used to." He laughed at that, genuine, open-mouth laughter she'd never seen him do in the two weeks that Elizabeth had been home. She loved it. He looked at her one last time, with that sparkling look, before turning around and making his way back into the darkness.

* * *

(20/06/2020)


	10. Chapter 9

**18 July.**   
**1916**   
**Sainte-Menehould, France**

_Tommy,_

_Just a few lines to let you know I'm alright. The summer has arrived here, clear skies and hot weather. Normally I would be upset with this, it makes work tiresome and sticky, but this week it has been very enjoyable. I have had another week of break (the reason for which I'll explain at the end of the letter) so I have been able to relax in the heat, instead of work in it._

_On Tuesday evening, we had a surprise. A cavalry regiment arrived. The Royal Horse Guards stopped here at St. Mene on their way to the front, though quite unexpectedly. They hadn't realised any station was nearby, so no word had been sent. I'm sure you can imagine the surprise of everyone when one hundred horses come riding up to a little village in the middle of the French countryside. I would be lying if I said we weren't worried at first, thought perhaps the Jerries' had come, but once we saw the flags and realised it was the wrong direction, nerves were settled._

_There wasn't any room in houses for the men, but fresh meat and vegetables made up for it. They didn't seem to mind tents, if it meant they could leave the bully beef and army biscuits alone. I was grateful for the reminder that I rarely have to eat food like that, it looks like my father fished something out the Cut and then attempted to cook. Is that insensitive? I'm sorry, I forget you have to eat that food Tommy, maybe I can try and send some things from here in a parcel? No promises, but I'll look into it._

_The men were only settled here a few days, but on the first night I played a game of Poker with Sgt. Wood and we got along well._

_(I lost the game, of course, but luckily we weren't playing for anything)_

_Wood lives in a small town called Llanmerewig, just outside Newton, which means he's lived two hours from us for all our lives. We talked about his wife and children, I talked about you boys up North. Conversation reached horses in time, and he took me to meet his stallion. When I tell you how my breath left me. Walking up to him, I thought for a minute that it was Blue Dancer. He had the same coat, black as night with white socks, and a part of me had the wild hope that he'd made it all the way here. It wasn't, of course. Blue Dancer was taken to work in Belgium, and up close I noticed this boy was much bigger and had white spots behind his ears. Sgt. Wood's horse is called War Breaker, an appropriate name I suppose, and was very gorgeous. He isn't my Blue, but it was lovely to meet him._

_I spent the next day with the horse, I couldn't ride him, of course, but I had a good enough time anyway. Sgt. Wood is a good man, devoted to War Breaker, and it was sad to see the regiment leave Wednesday night, but I think the women were glad to not have to feed all those mouths another day!_

_These last few days have been spent around the area, exploring. It's much like the British countryside here, so it was nice to imagine I was home. I go back to work_ _tomorrow, and we have a week of it before we will be moving further South. I'm not sure where yet, but I'll be sad to see St. Mene go, we have been here almost four months, which is the longest stay since we started moving down the Front._

_Anyway, onto the topic of why I had another week off. There is no need to worry about what I say, I'm only writing because I told Polly and I don't want you to receive a dramatic re-telling from her, when I can just tell you the truth._

_Two weeks ago, I was at the end of a very long shift, at the end of a very long fortnight of work. I was tired, and careless, and there was a man in my ward whose bandages I needed to change. He had been bought in on the shift before me, and hadn't woken up whilst I had been working, so I didn't know him at all. All I knew was that I needed to change the dressing on his face before I could leave. It was careless of me, and looking back I feel ashamed, but at the time I just wasn't thinking. Instead of waking him up gently, so he knew what I was doing, I leant right down next to him to take a look at the wound. The minute I touched him, though, he sprung awake and jumped from his bed._

_One of the first things we are taught, before going to France, is never to do what I did. The things you men see, it stays with you in your dreams, and waking a soldier up suddenly gives him no time to realise he's safe. In his haze, he must have thought I was a German, or just someone there to hurt him, and he grabbed hold of a scalpel on a nearby tray. He was slashing wildly, shouting, and I put my arms up in front of my face to protect me. He caught me right down my forearm._

_The soldiers on my ward were yelling for help, so people came running right away, and they calmed him down whilst Dr. Auclair got me out of the room._   
_I'm sure, despite what I said, you're worrying, but just as I told Polly, and just as you'll tell your brothers when she writes, I'm fine. In fact, I was very lucky. The scalpel was unused and the wound was shallow, so there's no risk of infection at all. It's been bandaged up and I've had two weeks off work to let it heal, and all is fine. Dr. Auclair says it will scar, and it will be an obvious one, but all it will be is a reminder for myself to never do that again, no matter how tired I am._

_I hope you are well, I hope you are safe. Send my love to Arthur and Freddie, if you ever talk to them about these letters, but keep a bit of that love for yourself._

_Ever yours,_

_Liza_

* * *

(25/06/2020)


	11. Chapter 10

**23 May 1919**

"Are you alright locking up, Eliza?" Harry asked as he untied his apron.

"Of course," She nodded, following him to the door. "Where are going this evening?"

"Oh, uh, just meeting a friend." He replied.

Elizabeth bolted the door behind him as Fenton stepped out into the evening street and returned to the bar, taking her time as she put away the glasses that she had been cleaning and bottles of alcohol which had accumulated on the bar surface. It was a quiet night and she was entirely alone in the silence, save the rain that had started to patter against the dark windows.

Once the pub was clean, she leant with her back against the bar, letting down her hair. Thick curls tumbled down to her shoulders, matted and knotted from being pinned up for so long. Humming lightly, and pouring herself a glass of rum, Elizabeth ran her fingers through the auburn strands. She combed her hair out, pulling at the tougher sections as she let her eyes drift shut, relaxing.

She had always found it calming, brushing her hair. Elizabeth thought back to quiet evenings in her childhood home, twenty years ago, when she would sit on the floor of the Watery Lane house, next to her mother's feet. A fire would be burning, warming her own little toes, as Dorelia Scott ran her fingers through her daughter's hair, singing to her softly. It was something Elizabeth loved, a memory that always bought a smile to her face, her mother's melodic voice and the gentle pulling and scratching at her scalp. Nothing calmed her more. Then, after her mother's death, the lap that she would rest her head would be her father's. His bigger, more calloused hands would drift through her hair, and they were no less gentle, although his singing would definitely ruin the mood. Sometimes even George would give into her, when he was feeling especially kind. And then, as she got older, the lap changed to whatever boy she was entertaining at the time, teasingly laying her head down as they sat in a field, hiding from unwanted attention.

Eventually, though, the lap became Tommy's.

Elizabeth could remember one time distinctly, the night her brother had left for France. She'd walked home from the station with Tommy and Polly, trying not to cry and feeling so desperately alone. Pol made them hot mugs of tea and scotch, her tried-and-tested remedy for an aching heart, and they'd sat down on the sofas, watching the evening light slip away in silence. Elizabeth couldn't remember when the other woman had left, perhaps it was the drink that blurred it from her mind, but soon enough it was just her, Tommy and the silent night. Tears began to fall then, thick and fast, and though she didn't make a sound, Tommy noticed, pulling her to him gently. Elizabeth had laid her head down on his lap, curling up as her body shook. No words passed between them that night, he just ran his hands through her hair, fingers pulling at the strands, drifting across her ear and neck. Something changed between them that night, like a candle being lit, or the sun bursting through a cloud. It was an understanding, a knowledge that there was something between them, something they'd ignored for years.

Elizabeth wished she could go back to that kind of simplicity.

A knock came from the door of the Garrison, a fist pounding against hard wood, that disrupted her from her memories. She sighed, pulling her hair over one shoulder and putting down her glass. She had to unbolt the door again, pulling it open a crack to see who was outside.

Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear. Or in this case, think of him, and he shall appear.

Tommy looked in at her, blue eyes piercing through the dark of the street, rain dripping from his face. Elizabeth opened the door further, stepping aside so he could come in, cold wind whistling into the pub, threatening to chase away the warmth.

"Do you need anything?" She asked, watching as he took of his cap and entered the room. He stopped, removing his coat and throwing both items of clothing onto an empty table.

"I need a drink." His response was gruff, his voice uneven and almost shaky. Something was wrong, though she couldn't tell what. Elizabeth walked behind the bar and swapped her bottle of rum for one with whiskey. She went to pour out a glass, but Tommy took the whole bottle instead, sitting down in a chair.

"Do you want to be alone?" She asked, unsure of whether her company was welcome.

"No." Tommy's response was short and unquestionable, so she moved from where she stood, taking a seat opposite him.

He unscrewed the top of the whiskey, taking a mouthful and then another. She watched in silence, not knowing what was the right thing to say. He was upset, that much she could still tell, but the days when they would talk for hours about their problems were long gone, and Elizabeth wasn't sure it would be a good idea to try it now. She noticed his eyes staring into hers, and it almost felt like he was giving her permission to ask what was wrong.

"What happened?" Her question was quiet, hardly daring to say it, but the words left her mouth all the same.

Tommy put the bottle down, scowling as he reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and matches. Elizabeth didn't think he would answer, as he handed her one in silence. He lit her cigarette and then his own, the frown set heavy on his face, but once he'd had a mouthful of smoke to match the whiskey, Tommy cleared his throat to speak.

"I shot my horse." He looked at her, smoke curling around his face as the brutal statement stung the air. A drop of rain ran slowly down his cheek, glistening in the orange glow of the pub. It looked almost like a tear.

"The white one? I saw you riding him yesterday." Tommy nodded, taking another smoke and grimacing bitterly. "Was he sick?"

"No," Tommy replied, tapping his ashes into a tray, and then sitting back, sighing. "I put a bullet in his head because he looked at me the wrong way. It's not a good idea to look at Tommy Shelby the wrong way." His gaze flicked back down to her and Tommy fixed Elizabeth with a chilling look.

"What's the right way, then?" She asked softly.

He shook his head, scoffing, and took another drink. When the bottle left his mouth, he ran a hand over his face and through his wet hair. His eyes travelled to somewhere behind her, like he was going to some place within him.

"In France, it's easy to get used to the men dying. You know that." He whispered; his voice hoarse. "I never got used to the horses dying, though, because they never want to want go. They die badly."

The melancholy, burning so deeply in his eyes, broke her heart. Elizabeth reached out across the table, taking his empty hand in hers. Tommy stilled, his focus coming back to the room, looking down at where her hand gripped his. He ran a thumb over her knuckles slowly, like he couldn't believe that she was real, and then he turned her hand so that her palm faced the ceiling. The sleeve of her blouse came up short of her wrist, so the tip of a thin scar that ran along Elizabeth's left forearm could just be seen, peeking out of the cotton cuff. Tommy shifted slightly in his seat, sitting forward and reaching across her arm to put out his cigarette. He then used his empty hand to push the sleeve of her blouse up to her elbow, the movements gentle and slow, lace trimming drifting softly against her skin. One hand still holding hers, he ran a thumb along her scar, the silver line that had marked her skin for almost three years, where the broken soldier had cut her. His movements were painstakingly slow, like he was scared that even the slightest pressure would hurt her. Elizabeth's gaze followed his thumb as it ran down her arm, leaving a hot trail behind it, like a burning kiss.

"This scar was the only bad thing you ever wrote about." Her heart beat so loud in her chest that she was worried it would break through, a shuddering breath leaving her lungs.

"You read my letters." Elizabeth whispered, tears stinging her eyes. Tommy looked up at her, bemused.

"Of course I did."

"Don't act surprised that I asked that," she said bitterly, biting her lip. "Why did you never write back Tommy? All those years, and not a single letter."

He sighed heavily, pulling from her grasp and running his hands over his face.

"I couldn't."

"Couldn't?" Elizabeth would have laughed if she wasn't so afraid to end the conversation without an answer. She settled with crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back.

"Your letters..." He sighed again, struggling for an answer. He found it in the bottle of whiskey, though, taking another drink and starting again. "Your letters were the only good thing I ever got over there, Liza. They were an escape. I could pretend, even for a minute, that I was sitting back here with you, and not in a fucking trench in France. If I wrote back to you..." Tommy looked up at her, eyes desperate, "if I wrote back to you, it would have taken that escape away. It was a selfish decision, I know, but I couldn't bring myself to do it."

Of all the reasons why he would never write, this one Elizabeth could understand. So, despite the pain he'd caused her, and the years of wondering what went wrong, she found herself forgiving Tommy. She understood, in fact she knew exactly what he meant, and she was thankful for it. It was the same reason why she could never write to him about the things that kept her awake at night. Writing would make it real. In many ways, they were the same, because whilst he couldn't write at all, she was the one creating a fantasy. Writing about a world where the both of them could pretend that they weren't living through Hell. Pretend that she wasn't cutting away limbs, that she didn't have men dying in her arms, she wasn't peeling off blood-soaked dresses every evening before she sat down to write a letter. If she had told the whole truth, it would make what was happening impossible to forget. And forget is all they wanted to do.

"I understand, Tommy."

The realisation felt strange, like she was seeing him again for the first time. Elizabeth found herself looking at Tommy differently, knowing for certain now that he had read her letters, that everything she'd discussed with him all those years, he'd heard. Feeling bold with his apparent willingness to talk tonight, she uncrossed her arms and leant forward again. "What's going on? Talk to me about what's happening, whether the things I'm hearing from Polly are true."

"Whatever Polly is saying, it's true," he remarked, "but she doesn't know everything." Tommy seemed like he was going to say nothing more, as he sat back in his chair, smoking another cigarette.

"What happened to the days when you could talk to me about anything, hey?" She asked, almost teasingly, smiling at him. He rolled him eyes and sat lower in his seat. "You can trust me, Tommy."

"Can I, Liza?" She nodded and he gave in, nodding back. "The shipment of weapons, that Arthur was questioned about: I have them."

"You have them?" Her smile dropped and she looked at him warily. "That Cooper will kill you for them Tommy."

"I know, I've heard it all from Pol, but I have things under control."

"Do you?"

"I thought you wanted me to talk to you?" He asked pointedly.

She shut her mouth and nodded.

"The Cooper, I met with him. He knows I have the guns, and he knows I'll give them back as long as he follows an agreement we made. I'm sick of running Small Heath, like it's still 1911. I want more, Liza. I fixed the last race at Cheltenham, to get Billy Kimber's attention. And now I'm going to destroy him." Her breathing stilled, and she looked at Tommy in shock. Kimber was a King, he controlled every street of Birmingham, down to the ground they stood on. Going up against him was a losing battle. And yet, if anyone knew how to turn a fight around, it was Tommy. "As long as the Inspector leaves us alone when we take Cheltenham, I'll give him back his guns. Oh, and the Lees want to kill me."

"The Lees want to kill you?" She shook her head, smiling at the insanity of it all. "They've wanted to kill you for years, Tommy. That's the only thing that doesn't surprise me." They looked at each other, smiling, and she could almost see a weight lifting from his shoulders. "See, what I always told is true. Talking helps."

"Don't make me into something soft, Liza." He chided, but the small smile never left his face.

She noticed then that he'd taken her hand again, sometime during their talk. His thumb was running unconsciously across her knuckles, warm and gentle. She squeezed his hand ever so gently as he stood up, taking his cap and coat, and leaving.

She watched as Tommy disappeared into the darkness of the world outside, the door swinging shut behind him.

* * *

(30/06/2020)


	12. Chapter 11

**25 May 1919**

The Black Swan Inn was teeming with men, spilling in and out of the doors, hats pulled low in case someone was watching.

Someone like Harry Fenton.

He stood at the top of the street, peering around the corner of a brick wall to get a glimpse of the pub entrance, making sure no one could see him. He didn't really know what he was looking for, a man that looked suspicious, perhaps, someone who looked like they might have information on the guns, although Harry wasn't sure he agreed with Inspector Campbell that the Irish had them.

He hadn't actually seen the Inspector for weeks, and there had been no contact, so, impatient, Harry decided to take things into his own hands, especially after overhearing a conversation in the Garrison between Thomas and two IRA members.

Fenton had always been a close friend to Thomas and the Shelby family, and it was never his intention to betray them, in fact what he was doing terrified him, but in recent times Harry had been growing tired of their violence, which was spreading thick and fast across the city like some unstoppable plague, now more than ever after the war. So, when an officer contacted him late last year, days after Fenton's own son was beaten bloody by Arthur Selby, he found himself complying. He knew the family; he knew what they were like, where they went, what they drank. He also knew that the wall between the private room and the bar wasn't as sound-proof as Tommy believed. Simple, he had thought, just listen to a few things and report back anything necessary.

And then Elizabeth Scott returned to Birmingham. And with her she bought several problems for Harry. Not only did she make listening into conversations hard, with her so often behind the bar with him, but it made what he was doing weigh that much heavier on his conscious. She was kind, a sweet girl who had helped him out at the pub since she was young, someone he had grown to care for, especially with no daughters of his own.

Elizabeth's return was unexpected, though not un-talked of. It was a discussion had on many a night, when men knee-deep in their Blues would come stumbling into The Garrison, drowning their sorrows in amber liquid. Forgetting France and instead choosing to remember easier times, when a pretty, red-haired girl served them drinks as they danced. They would sit across the bar from him, slurring their words as they asked when she was coming back, hoping they could have just that little bit of normality back in their lives.

_Where's that pretty Scott girl gone, ey Harry? When's she coming back so I can dance with her again?_

And then the rumours began. Some said she was dead, which he never believed, buried six feet below French soil. He would rebuke those claims, but he couldn't stop his own suspicions as his Maggie told him of the rumours that she had moved to America, run from this city and its people the first chance she got. He thought back to those conversations with his wife across the kitchen table and how one night she said that even Polly Grey wasn't denying it anymore.

He could never understand the obsession in Small Heath with the Peaky Blinders, why so much of the gossip centred around that family, but nevertheless he indulged in the whispers and therefore didn't have her on his conscious as he made his decision to work with the Inspector. And then, just his luck, Elizabeth turned up in Birmingham again. It was much to the delight of his Maggie, who started going on about introducing the 'very much flowered woman' to one of their boys. He couldn't find the same joy in it though, having never anticipated her returning here from France, which was what made his decision to betray the Peaky Blinders that much easier. But once she was back, Harry found himself doubting his decisions, struggling to actually do his job, and wondering if he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

His attention was moved suddenly from his thoughts as he watched a man leave the pub, stumbling over his feet, drunkenly singing Fenian songs. Harry Fenton's hand went to the gun in his coat pocket, which was cool to the touch, as he left his spot, walking slowly behind the drunkard. He teetered down the road, swerving and tripping as the alcohol clouded his vision. Eventually, the Irishman rounded a corner, walking up an empty street. When Harry followed cautiously behind, he found the man gone. Advancing slowly, shoes crunching on the gravel, he tightened his grip on the gun that Inspector Campbell had given him. Suddenly, a foot shot out from behind a door, sweeping Fenton's legs from under him. The drunk man came flying at him, knocking the breath from his lungs as they tumbled around on the ground. After a few minutes of scrambling across the street, twisting and grunting, the man gained control, sitting on top of Harry and tightening his hands around his neck.

"I saw you following me," he spat, a thick accent made worse by the alcohol which stung his eyes as the man breathed, "why were you doing that, hey? You interested in me?"

"Get. Off. Me." Harry gasped, kicking his legs desperately as the man tightened his grip, blocking his windpipe.

"Don't think I will, actually. I know you, don't I? You work at the Peaky Blinder's pub." The man grinned, his small eyes twinkling, "What business do you have following me, working for them are you? Or you a Copper? I might just take you in for questioning, hey, on behalf of the Irish Republican Army. Would you like that?"

Harry found himself panicking, his plan to get information unravelling before him, the thread disappearing in the wind like the air in his lungs. Trying to gasp for breath, Harry scratched uselessly at the man's fingers, trying to pry them off.

"Tell me," he gasped, desperate, "about the guns, and I won't shoot you."

"Shoot me?" The man hesitated long enough for Harry to reach to his pocket and draw out his gun, pressing the barrel into the Irishman's neck. He paused, eyes wide, and slowly released Fenton from his grip, holding his hands out beside him.

"Calm down, you crazy bastard," he croaked, sliding off Fenton and kneeling in the mud. "I don't know about any fucking guns, alright? Just put that down and we'll forget about this."

"Tell me about the guns." He repeated, sitting up slowly, trying not to show that he could barely focus, his vision swimming wildly.

"I'm serious, I don't know a fucking thing. If you're talking about the stolen BSA ones the Coppers are after, we was trying to buy them, alright but that's it, that's all I know."

Confirming his suspicions, and Tommy's conversation, Fenton was now sure that the IRA didn't have the stolen weapons, and that his job here was done. Keeping a close eye on the man, he rose, slowly lowering the gun to return it to his pocket. The minute he went to put it back, however, the man lunged forward, tackling his legs and knocking him back into the floor. Not thinking, Fenton found his finger wrapping around the gun trigger and firing.

A bang echoed through the street, and above him, the Irishman stiffened and then collapsed.

Fenton's world seemed to slow, his heart pounding his chest and his fingers turning numb. He pushed the man of his chest and stood up, shaking. Harry looked down, watching as blood blossomed from the man's chest, a dark red stain creeping across his clothes, seeping out onto the dusty ground. Harry looked down at his own chest, which was splattered with the man's blood, and, trying not to be sick, he wrapped his coat around him quickly, turning and running from the dead man.

**27 May 1919**

Elizabeth sighed, pushing her hair from her face as she surveyed the mess that was John's kitchen. Four screaming children were sat around the table, bickering amongst themselves, throwing food and pencils and, a gun?

"Get your hands of that William before I clip your ear!" She shouted, pushing away from the kitchen counter and dashing across the room, grabbing the weapon from the giggling six-year-old. "Where did you get this?"

"Pa left it here." The child laughed, before his attention moved to his siblings around the table.

Elizabeth cursed John silently, reminding herself to give him a shouting whenever he returned tonight. Her mind wandered to John as she tried to block out the high-pitched screams that filled the room.

Helping out with the children felt like the least she could do to provide comfort since Martha's death. The woman's lack of presence in the house was felt dearly. From the mess that was John Shelby's home, to the state of discipline and order amongst his children. Little children, who were no more than babies when Elizabeth had last seen them and who didn't recognise her when she met them again. She could tell how much it hurt them as well. Katie and William, eight and six respectfully, understood why their mother had passed, even in all their childhood innocence, but she still caught them looking at her photo on the wall with grief in their big eyes. The youngest two, however: Rupert, five years old, and Ellie, who wasn't even born when Elizabeth left, she could see it in their faces that they didn't understand. She felt it as she tucked them into bed, kissing their cheek and trying not to let her heart break as they whispered for their mother in their sleep.

Elizabeth had known Martha since she was a girl, and though they'd never been particularly close, she had always admired the girl stuck to John Shelby's arm, who could stand his unbearable ways, keeping him under control and loving him to her last breath, even after he got her pregnant at sixteen. Helping Martha's children wasn't only from a sense of duty to John, but a sense of duty to the woman who'd stuck beside him.

And despite all that, she still wanted to scream in frustration at the gang of children who never slowed down, even for a minute.

"Alright!" She shouted suddenly, clapping her hands together to get their attention, "I'm sick to death of your screaming, so let's try something new, since you refuse to do your spelling."

Elizabeth could already feel the regret of her decision building up inside her, but it had been made. Putting Katie in charge, she locked the four of them in the kitchen as she dashed down the road and to her apartment, grabbing the box of art supplies that Polly had handed over to her two weeks ago. There and back in five minutes, Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief as she walked back into the battlefield, glad that none of the children had started a fire, or killed each other, since she was gone.

"Who here likes painting?" She asked, looking at the intrigued faces, their eyes brightening. She was met with a chorus of cheers, smiling as they scrambled onto the table to grasp first choice of supplies. Knowing the risk of mess that this activity posed, she laid cloth across the table and made sure each Shelby had a suitable supply of paper to spread paint over.

Elizabeth settled down in a chair beside Ellie, gently helping the youngest girl to unscrew the lid of a green paint tube, laughing as they both smeared the thick substance over the paper with their hands. She couldn't help but watch the four with a glowing heart, their tongues stuck out in concentration, voices quietening to a whisper as they worked on their pieces. Years ago, the idea of handing her supplies to the mercy of children would have horrified her, but Elizabeth found nothing made her happier than watching them paint with the same ardour that she possessed at their age.

"Do you like, Aunt Eliza?" Rupert asked, beaming as he held up a very messy sheet of paper, a scramble of pencil lines and pink paint swirling across the page.

"I love it Rupert," she replied in earnest, kissing the thick crop of curls on his head. He smiled, putting it to the side and starting another painting.

Whatever God had smiled down on her that night, Elizabeth thanked them. The children, calmed by the art, settled down to sleep agreeably, hours later, excited to wake up and see what their pieces looked like dry. It had terrified Elizabeth, watching them dart for the box when she'd first put it down, wondering if she'd be cleaning paint from the ceiling by the end of the day, but instead all had ended well.

She finally made her way down the stairs, yawning as she packed her things back into the box and found a drying rack from the cupboard. She spread the young Shelby's many pages across it, inspecting their creations. Some were nothing more than hand prints across a page, others little scenes of a garden or a beach. A picture by Katie caught Elizabeth's eye, as she pegged it up, a painting she could only assume was of Martha. A tall woman, painted pink, was standing outside a house, holding the hand of a small, green child, with brown pigtails to match Katie's. The front door clicked open as she pegged the last work on, turning around to smile at John as he entered the kitchen.

"Bloody hell, what did they do to you?" he whistled, removing the toothpick from his mouth and looking her up and down. She followed his eyes to her chest, where her shirt was stained with paint that she hadn't realised was on there.

"Fuck," she cursed, throwing her hands in the air in desperation. "It's ruined!"

John only laughed, pushing past her to look, intrigued, at the work she'd hung up. Elizabeth turned around, smiling slightly at the look of pride on his face, as he inspected his children's work.

"You let them mess with your stuff?" he asked, touching the painting of Katie and her mother, John's finger brushing gently over Martha's likeness.

"I didn't have much hope," she admitted, gathering her coat and bag, "but it was a surprising success."

"Thank you, Eliza." John said earnestly, looking her dead in the eye. She squeezed his arm gently, kissing his cheek and going to leave, pausing suddenly as she reached the kitchen door.

"Oh, and John, if I catch your children with one your guns one more time," Elizabeth turned around and picked the weapon up from the sideboard, pointing it at John, who cursed under his breath. "I will tell Polly, and then we can have a bit of fun, the both of us, blowing your bloody balls off."

John grimaced, nodding in understanding and disappearing upstairs, as quick as his legs could take him, desperate to get away from her aim.

Elizabeth sighed, looking at the weapon in her hand, unsure of what to do. If she left it where it was, no doubt one of the little ones would have it in their hands by the morning, but the idea of putting it in her purse didn't appeal to her much either. Reluctantly, she settled for the latter, pulling on her coat and leaving John's home. Stepping outside into the darkness, she stifled a yawn and set of down Watery Lane, desperate for her bed.

"Walking home alone?" A voice called from the side of the road. She turned around to watch Tommy push himself away from a wall he was leaning on, cigarette smoking swirling around his face. She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, is there a problem with that?" She retorted, resuming her walk again.

Tommy only shrugged, falling into step with her.

"Not very safe, is it." He said, arm brushing against hers.

Elizabeth laughed, looking up at him.

"I think I'm alright." She picked the gun out of her bag, pointing it at his head as they walked.

Unlike John, Tommy didn't even flinch, his step not faltering as they turned a corner.

"John left his gun lying about again?" He asked, breathing out a cloud of smoke.

"Who says it isn't mine?"

"Because whilst Ada was chasing birds with one of them," he inclined his head towards the gun that Elizabeth had lowered from his head, "you were chasing after her in tears."

"I never cried." She bit back, raising her eyebrows indignantly.

"Yes you did," Tommy scoffed, his fingers brushing against hers as he took the cold weapon from her grasp, tucking it into his waistband.

"Well, if I ever did- and I'm not saying I did- it was only because Ada spent half her time pointing those things at me and Finn."

"Fair enough, she is a terrible shot." Tommy admitted, the corner of his mouth curling upwards, slightly.

They had reached her door, apparently a popular spot for conversation between the two of them now, and Elizabeth looked up at Tommy as he stood before her. Taking her hand in his, he moved it so that her palm faced the sky, taking the gun out of his waistband and pressing it back into her hand. The metal was warm now, but a shiver still ran through her.

"I don't want it Tommy, I just took it so Katie doesn't follow in Ada's footsteps. I'd have given it back to John tomorrow." She tried to pull her hand from his grasp, but Tommy only folded her fingers over the gun. He stared at her, blue eyes illuminated in the dim street light, and his look suggested the matter was final.

"You don't have to use it, but I'll feel better knowing that you have it." He stated simply, squeezing her hand and walking away.

"Why?" She called after him, her hand falling down with weight of the gun. He never replied and Elizabeth could only curse, tucking the firearm back into her bag.

* * *

(08/07/2020)


	13. Chapter 12

**28 May 1919**

"Eliza!" Arthur roared as she entered the pub, slamming his hand down onto the bar, "a round of drinks to celebrate!"

Elizabeth laughed, shrugging of her coat and slipping behind the bar, placing her bag on the surface and grabbing an apron. She looked at the men around her. Arthur was sat down, a grin spread across his face and eyes sparkling with joy to match. Tommy was stood behind him, and though his face was far less emotive, she could still see the small smile that tugged at his lips. The third man looked far less enthusiastic. Harry was standing beside her, mouth slightly open in shock, shaking.

"And what exactly are we celebrating?" Elizabeth asked as she poured two glasses of whiskey, pushing them to the Shelby brothers.

Arthur downed his in seconds, wiping his hand across his mouth and passing his glass back for a refill.

"We are celebrating our new Shelby residence, Eliza," he held his hands out beside him, gesturing to the room. "The Garrison is now, officially, under the order of the Peaky-Fucking-Blinders!"

She couldn't help but laugh, raising her eyebrows and shaking her head in disbelief. Elizabeth looked to the pale Fenton beside her, who was still frozen in his spot.

"I think you'll find that it's been under your orders for some time now, Arthur."

"Not with me as its owner, it hasn't!"

"Sorry?" Elizabeth paused as she was tying her apron around her waist, looking between Arthur, who was nodding vigorously, and Harry, still shaking, the reason for his shock now clear. "And did Harry have a say in this?"

"Nothing's changed for him, Liza," Tommy finally spoke up, smoke clouding his face. "Now get to work, or Arthur's first role will be hiring a new barmaid."

Arthur roared in laughter, slapping his brother on the back and downing more alcohol.

"Ridiculous brother, I would never dream of replacing our Eliza." He winked at her and she rolled her eyes, passing him the whole bottle of whiskey.

Harry felt frozen in place, unable to move and unable to think. All he could do was watch as his pub slipped through his fingers, an anger burning up inside of him like the hot tendrils of rum on a cold day. He had no choice in giving up ownership, to deny the brothers would be to sign his own life away, but a part of him had hoped, as Elizabeth entered the pub, that she'd be the one to stick up for him. Clearly, he was wrong.

His eyes followed the woman as she picked up her bag from where she'd left it on the side, slinging it onto a shelf under the bar and making her way across the room to a group of drunk men. Once Elizabeth was on the other side of the pub, his eyes flicked back, attention moving to her bag. He'd heard a familiar clunk of metal hitting wood when she'd dropped it onto the shelf, and glancing down, Fenton could see that the barrel of a gun within had slipped out, revealing the metal weapon hidden inside.

With Tommy and Arthur in the room, he dared not do anything, but as the hours ticked by and Fenton went about his work, his own gun, which was nestled in his trouser pocket, pressing against his leg through the fabric, seemed to burn hot. The same gun that had a bullet missing in its chamber, lodged in the chest of an Irishman three days ago. He could still feel the blood beneath his nails.

**1 June 1919**

"That was never part of your job, Mr Fenton!" Inspector Campbell hissed at him, keeping the anger in his voice restrained to barely a whisper. "Killing a man? What were you thinking?"

"I thought he might have information," Harry replied, "I followed him, he attacked me, I had no choice."

"No, you had a choice, you had a clear choice not to follow him, and yet you did it anyway!" Campbell rose from beside him, turning to face the barman and pointing a finger at his face. "Observe and report, that was your job! I gave you that gun as a safety precaution, I never instructed you to use it."

"You'll forgive my words, Inspector," Fenton spat out suddenly, rising from the bench to match Campbell's stance, "but I have not heard from you in weeks, so I did not know what my instructions were. I overheard a conversation at the Garrison, I followed up a suspicion, I did my job. I can now confirm that the IRA Fenians in Birmingham do not have the guns, is this not useful information?"

Inspector Campbell begin to laugh, a bitter sound that had Fenton scrunching his brow in confusion. He had expected the man to be grateful for what he had learnt.

"I know who has the guns, Mr Fenton, and it is not the Fenians. You see, I had a meeting with Mr Thomas Shelby a few weeks ago, and he was more than eager to admit it is the Peaky Blinders who own the guns, the very men that it was your job to report on." Fenton swallowed nervously, sinking back down onto the bench and running a hand through his hair. "You are fortunate enough that I will deal with this problem of yours, you will not be blamed for the murder I assure you, if more for the sake of the investigation, than for you, but from this moment on your job as an informant is at an end."

"Inspector!" Fenton gasped, his eyes widening in shock, "I did no more than was asked, firing me puts me at risk!"

"Save your cries, Mr Fenton, it is below you." Campbell held out his hand towards him. "I require the gun that I gave you, and the reassurance you will not speak of what we have done."

"I won't say a word." He whispered sullenly, hanging his head in defeat.

"And the gun, Mr Fenton."

Harry swallowed nervously, wiping sweat from his forehead and looking up.

"Of course, Inspector."

He took the metal weapon from his coat pocket, pressing it into the Inspector's outstretched hand and dashing away.

"Stop!" Campbell called out; his voice angry. "What are you playing at? This is not the gun I gave you."

"No, Sir," he froze in his spot, turning around slowly to meet Campbell's eyes. "That is not the gun."

"You thought you could trick me?" He spat out; his nostrils flared in anger. "What have you done with it, man?"

"I didn't- I hoped," he sighed, looking guilty. "That gun belongs to Elizabeth Scott, Inspector, I swapped my gun for hers when she wasn't looking."

The Inspector's mouth opened and closed in surprise, but he seemed unable to find his voice. Looking at the gun in his hands, and at Harry Fenton, who stood nervous and uncertain before him, Campbell had no clue of what to do.

"So she now has the gun you used to kill the Fenian?" Fenton nodded. "Why did you do that?"

"I'm not sure, Inspector. I was angry, and I wasn't sure that you wouldn't arrest me for what happened, so I thought if I didn't have the gun, you didn't have evidence to accuse me."

"That's not strictly true, but still, if she has a weapon that contains bullets to match the one found in the man's chest..." The Inspectors voice drifted off as a plan began to make itself clear to him.

He looked more closely at Harry then, who hadn't moved from his spot, forehead glistening with nervous sweat. The man was weak, scared of almost anything it seemed, unable to do the job that was required of him, and, yet, he could be surprising cunning when required.

"Mr Fenton, this does not change my decision on your employment within the Police Force, but it does, perhaps, alter my opinion on you. This is useful, what you have done, more than you realise. I will keep in contact with you, expect to hear from me, you can go."

Harry Fenton nodded, clearly confused, but nevertheless rushed from the terraced meeting spot as quickly as he could, not wanting to risk another change in the Inspector's mind.

Campbell watched him go, tossing Elizabeth Scott's gun between his hands, cogs whirring within his mind.

_Perhaps it's time we meet again,_ _Miss Scott,_ he thought, _but I believe this time I owe you a proper introduction._

**2 June 1919**

_The scratching against the wall is quiet, but crouched in the dark tunnel, silent, the three of them can hear the shovels as clear as day._

_Danny goes ahead of Tommy, crouching low as he moves through the passage, towards the sound. He turns his head as Freddie comes to stand beside him, nodding at each other in understanding:_

_I've got you._

_Tommy turns his head back to where Danny waits, ear pressed up against the wall. The seconds seem to tick by like hours, the sounds of heavy breaths and scratching all he can hear, the soldier's minute growing shorter as the sound gets louder._

_Then everything turns to hell._

_A German soldier bursts through the wall, shouting, yelling. He bundles past Danny, knocking him to the floor, and Tommy wrestles with the Jerry, a sharp pain splitting his shoulder. Freddie starts shouting at him, pushing him out the way as a gunshot explodes through the tunnel, hitting Freddie square in the chest. The man goes down yelling, his cries filling the tiny space. And then Tommy is in the German's grasp, his hand clamps over his mouth and he writhes, scratching at the man's hands and arms, kicking his legs to try and get him off as the breath leaves his lungs. The world feels as if it is collapsing down on him in the tunnel, darkness and dirt all he can see._

_And then there she is._

_Standing before him in the passage, illuminated, an angel, red hair glowing like the lights on the wall. She's beautiful, an image of glory, tears running tracks down her cheeks, a smile stretched across her face, the last view he'd ever got of her as the train had pulled out the station._

_She reaches out for him, her touch ghosting against his hand, her eyes shining into his. He feels at peace._

_Danny bayonets the soldier, who goes down screaming, realising his grip on Tommy. He gasps for breath, falling forwards as Danny and the soldier tackle each other on the ground, swords slicing through flesh. Tommy's own shoulder burns hot where he was cut, but he ignores it, getting shakily to his feet and finding the gun in his uniform, shooting the soldier who lays next to Danny. A silence spreads through passage, and Tommy goes scrambling across the bodies, lifting the injured Danny onto his shoulders and moving towards Freddie._

A knock on the door woke Tommy from his nightmares, bolting straight up onto the bed, lungs heaving. Danny Whizzbang called his name from outside his room as Tommy rushed about, putting the opium back into its tin and pushing it out of sight. He straightened up, running a hand through his hair.

"It's open." His voice was rough, croaky from sleep and from pain.

His bedroom door opened and Danny stood before him, raising a hand in salute.

"Private Whizzbang reporting, Sir." Tommy smiled at the notion, but it felt strained with the dreams so fresh in his mind.

"At ease," he replied, sitting back down on his bed. "So, what news from London?"

Danny placed his lantern on a shelf and moved from the doorway to sit on a chair beside the bed.

"I was at a pub," Danny lent forwards, resting his arms on his legs and bringing his voice to a low whisper, "it's called the Mother Redcap, an Irish pub. I got talking to some old bloke there about Birmingham, he said there's been trouble, an IRA man's been shot. Their high command thinks it's the Peaky Blinders who shot him. Is it true?"

Tommy shook his head in disbelief, massaging his eyes to try and process the information so early in the morning. He'd had Irish boys' approach him about the guns, but to his knowledge none of his men had harmed any.

"No, it's not true." He replied, sipping at a glass of whiskey he must have left on the side earlier in the night.

"They also said..." Danny furrowed his eyebrows in what looked like confusion, "it didn't make much sense, but they said that people having been saying they saw a woman there, down the road the Irish man was shot."

"You think that's true?"

"I don't know Tommy. What business would a woman have with the dead man? Why would that be connected to us?"

* * *

(22/07/2020)


	14. Chapter 13

**4 June 1919**

Elizabeth's head was tilted to the side as she rested, letting the heat of the summer sun glow against her closed eyelids, orange and red all she could see. The wind blew gently and disturbed strands of her hair, making them dance against her cheek. The country roads were quiet as they drove down them and the hum of the car motor was all that she could hear.

Tommy hadn't said a word since he'd picked her up an hour ago, and Elizabeth could tell his mind was elsewhere. She didn't know much of what was to happen that day, but, though a part of her hoped Tommy had meant it when he'd said he just wanted to take her to the races, she was sure her role today wasn't simply to be Thomas Shelby's company.

"Are you sleeping?" His voice broke her train of thought and she opened her eyes, blinking against the sunlight and turning to look at him.

His eyes were on the road, bright blue and focused. Any one might have thought he was simply a cautious driver, but Elizabeth knew that wasn't true. His focus wasn't on the road, it was on whatever was at the end of it.

"Not sleeping, just thinking," she replied.

"About what?"

"About you."

Tommy glanced to the side, making eye contact with her for a moment, blue meeting brown, before he returned his gaze to the road.

"Good things I hope."

"I was thinking about today, actually. Wondering what we're doing."

"We're going to the races." He replied simply.

"Don't be clever," she sighed, "two weeks ago you told me you were meeting Billy Kimber at Cheltenham, and then you say to me that you're going to destroy him. Is that what you're doing today, Tommy?"

"You don't need to worry," he said, "nothing bad is going to happen."

"I never said I was worried, I'd just like to know what's going on-" She paused, before continuing to speak, "-if that's alright."

Like always, he hesitated before answering, letting her words melt into the silence around them. They turned a sharp corner, and Elizabeth slid to the side, her arm pressing against Tommy's. The car soon straightened up, but she found herself still leaning into his touch as he finally decided to speak.

"Lee men have been stealing from Kimber," he began to explain, "my brothers will be at Cheltenham by now, taking back the money, and then we'll use it to show him that we're on his side."

"And once you've gained Kimber's trust, you'll betray him? How sly of you," she teased.

Tommy shrugged in response, as if it was all perfectly normal. The boy he'd been before the way had taken risks, of course, he was a member of a gang after all, but this level of treachery was uncomfortably new.

When their mother had died, and their father left, the Shelby brothers became dangerous; the blood-thirsty Peaky Blinders ruthlessly taking control of Small Health. But it had been necessary, a means of survival by doing what they knew best, what they'd been taught all their lives. And they weren't the only founding family.

Her brother was the one to coin the name in the days when it was only four boys sitting in the Garrison at night, wondering how to turn a family bookmaking trade into their livelihood. He'd fought and killed with them, the money he earned paying for their nice clothes and little luxuries. Even her father, who refused to play any part in it all, had reluctantly helped build the Den.

And Elizabeth was far from innocent herself, there alongside the lot of them, giving advice, counting out money and patching up wounds. How else would she have adapted to nursing life so well? But coming back home, it felt like it had all changed. It was no longer a way for seven motherless children to survive, but instead a distraction from the war, a darkness blanketing them all and a feeling that something terribly wrong was going to be the result of all this recklessness.

_And I'm standing right here in the crossfire_ , Elizabeth couldn't help but realise.

"What else are you thinking about?" Tommy interrupted her wonderings, pulling her back into the present.

"Who said I was thinking about anything else?" She smiled softly, looking out at the passing scenery.

"I can tell there's something else you want to ask," Tommy stated, like it was clear as day.

"Fine," she relented, "I just wonder why you need me today, that's all. Is it to help you?"

"I told you, all I want is to take you to the races."

"You promise?"

The car slowed slightly as Tommy turned to look at her, his attention focused solely on Elizabeth.

"I promise."

"Well then, I'll put my trust in you Tommy." She smiled slightly, sighing and closing her eyes again, temporarily content.

Silence returned, and Elizabeth let the sun continue to warm her, the rocking of the vehicle sending her close to slumber.

"You really are falling asleep this time." His voice broke the silence once more, and she began to laugh.

"I'm relaxing, Tommy, I know it's foreign to you, but other people do enjoy it."

"I know how to relax, Liza" he said indignantly.

Elizabeth's eyes were still shut, but she could imagine how he looked, eyebrows furrowed and knuckles gripped tightly onto the steering wheel.

A picture of anything but relaxation.

When she opened her eyes to look at him, Elizabeth's thoughts were confirmed, and she started laughing even harder. Tommy looked across at her, and suddenly she felt as if he was analysing her, trying to figure something out.

Elizabeth's laughter faded and she raised her eyebrows at him in confusion.

"What?"

"I just-" he sighed, scratching his cheek and looking back out at the road. "No, I shouldn't ask."

"Do." She said, confused as to what it was.

"I wonder how you laugh so much still, how you're still so happy."

Her smile dropped and Elizabeth bit at the inside of her cheek, looking out at the road and regretting ever pushing him to ask.

"You want to know why I act like none of it affected me."

"I never said that. What I meant is that I want to know how you can still laugh and smile, despite everything you've been through."

His voice was so sincere that it almost sounded desperate. She felt a rush of emotion, a terrible sadness at the thought of Tommy ever feeling like he couldn't smile again.

The loss that she had experienced in her life, the death that she had almost become accustomed to, it plagued her every waking minute. It left her breathless at night, unable to sleep and seeking any kind of distraction. It was why she filled the time she wasn't working with looking after John's children, or spending time with Polly, trying not to stop moving even for a breath.

It left her with an overwhelming sense of guilt, that, after everything, what right did she have to still be here today?

Elizabeth struggled to form an answer to his question, her tongue feeling heavy as she was plunged into the darkness she tried so desperately to avoid.

"Hey, Liza," Tommy said gently, nudging her slightly with his shoulder, "I shouldn't have fucking asked that, yeah, let's forget about it."

"I'm good," she said, finding her voice, "and it's alright, it's a good question, just difficult to answer."

"I understand that. You don't have to. Forget I said anything, ey?"

She wanted to forget, but when she thought about his voice when he'd asked, how desperate he seemed to get a response, Elizabeth knew then what she wanted to say. She began her story.

"One of the last times I visited my mother in hospital, when she was sick, she told me something I've always carried with me.  
I had been quiet all that visit, didn't really say much, and even when I was at home I was becoming... like a ghost, almost.  
Dad said it was time to go, and I started crying. I didn't want to leave her and I really missed her being around- found Mum's absence hard to deal with. What six-year-old wouldn't?  
But I remember how she put her hand on mine as I cried, and she looked at me with her beautiful eyes, that always shone so brightly, even when the rest of her face was pale and thin from sickness, and she told me something I'll never forget. She said:  
 _'Please smile for me, my little Bessy. I know it's hard when you feel alone, but always try to find happiness, even when it seems like there's none at all.'_  
She died a week later, and for a while, after Mum was gone, I was really angry all the time. And I said to Polly once, in a bitter mood, that it was the most stupid thing she'd ever said, because there was never going to be anything good without her.  
But you know what, that same day, she took me and George to your house, and that was the first time I ever met you, and suddenly there was a bit of happiness in my life again, and I realised it wasn't stupid advice, it was the best."

There was a moment of silence, and Elizabeth rested her head against Tommy's shoulder briefly, remembering her mother.

"I wish I'd met her." He said, his voice almost at a whisper.

"My mother was an amazing person."

He hummed in agreement, and she lifted her head back up, shifting so she could face him.

"I know how it feels, Tommy, to be drowning. There is so much shit weighing you down, and really, it would be easy just to let it take you, because fighting against it is even harder. But swimming is better than drowning, I guarantee you, and even if my advice changes nothing, just promise me you'll try; you'll try to find the smallest bit of happiness."

His eyes met hers, but he said no more.

* * *

(24/09/2020)


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I don't normally put anything at the start, but I just want to put a trigger warning today because there are themes of sexual assault and sexism in this chapter that might make some people uncomfortable. Elizabeth isn't actually assaulted, but I want people to feel safe when reading my work and I've written about an uneasy situation, so its why I'm putting this note here. I debated putting trigger warnings on the story as a whole because of this chapter, but decided against it as this is the only time something like this happens. I hope that was the right choice.   
> The moment starts at the first '~~~~' and ends at the second '~~~~'.  
> Stay safe x

**4 June 1919**

The ballroom was loud and crowded, voices and music clashing as couples danced to the upbeat rhythm of the band. Its members were strumming deep notes on a cello and blasting jazzy tunes on their clarinets and trumpets, the sound filling the room in a beautiful harmony.

Listening to the noise from their spot on the mezzanine, Elizabeth and Tommy stood side by side. She was sipping on a flute of champagne, golden bubbles resting in diamond cut glass, and he had a cigarette lit between his fingers, bitter tobacco smoke curling from the end in soft spirals.

"I still prefer the Garrison," Tommy commented, surveying the room.

"Of course you would." She murmured from her drink, raising her eyebrows at him.

"And you don't?"

"I used to... when it had the bandstand," Elizabeth replied, looking longingly at the one opposite them, where three women were dancing to the music. "There was so much more life when people danced and sang together, I loved it."

"Except no one wants to do that anymore."

"Some people do," she remarked, gesturing to the busy room before them.

"They're still children," Tommy muttered, dropping his cigarette with sigh, and turning to face her, hand outstretched, "fuck it though, ey, let's be like them tonight."

"The first time in five years, and this is how you ask me to dance?" She teased.

"Yes," he shrugged nonchalantly.

Elizabeth scoffed, knocking his hand away in outrage and pointing at him.

"You are a terrible dance partner Tommy."

He rolled his eyes, taking her hand suddenly and pulling her down the stairway, into the crowd of dancers.

"That's because I'm a terrible person, Liza." He confessed, ignoring her protests as he wrapped his other hand around her waist and moved them further into the crowd.

They began to dance, moving backwards and forwards in time to the song. Tommy's hand was warm against her waist, though at first he was light with his touch, fingers brushing gently against her dress. As time passed, however, and as he grew certain that she didn't mind, he moved his hand to lay flat on the small of her back, using the smallest of pressure to pull her against him.

Every now and then he would let go, step back, and Elizabeth would spin around his hand, smiling as he pulled her back to him, their faces coming dangerously close each time.

It was almost a game, seeing how much they could tempt fate, how often she could dance back into his arms before they came too close, before she might fall into a kiss. It never happened, but the subtle flirting and the fact that, noticing Tommy's own smile, she knew what was happening was mutual, it made her heart flutter.

They continued dancing for some time, spinning and waltzing across the ballroom floor to the blare of the saxophone, until Tommy slowed down to check his pocket watch and then started moving even faster than before, pushing her along backwards as he walked.

"Tommy!" Elizabeth gasped, tripping over her own feet as he picked up speed, "where are we going?"

"To say hello to Arthur." He responded, spinning her out to the side and pulling her along behind him.

She sighed in frustration, running slightly to keep up with him.

"Arthur?" She questioned, as he reached a back door and pushed it open.

"That's right love," Arthur affirmed as he emerged through the doorway, blood on his cheek and laden with bags.

He dumped them onto the floor as Elizabeth watched on, realising at once that this was the stolen money Tommy had talked about earlier.

"We chased the Lees across the track, right the way down to Devon road, we got every penny back." Arthur grinned at his brother as he spoke, and then looked at where she stood to the side, "you look nice Eliza, dressing up for anyone special?"

He winked at her and she rolled her eyes, turning away from the two of them as they continued talking. It wasn't long before Arthur was gone, the door slamming shut behind him, and Tommy arrived at her side, with the bags his brother had dumped slung over his shoulders.

She followed after him as he pushed back through the crowd, knocking people this way and that as he moved. When they neared the bar, Tommy looked over his shoulder at her, tilting his head slightly to indicate that she should stay there whilst he went ahead.

Elizabeth took a seat begrudgingly, collecting a fresh glass of champagne and lighting a cigarette as she followed Tommy with her eyes, watching him reach a nearby table, where she recognised Billy Kimber. Her stomach coiled in anticipation.

It was impossible to hear anything at that distance, so she could only watch and guess as Tommy poured the money onto the table and sat down, with his back to her. Elizabeth could see that he was smoking as he spoke to them, the faces of Kimber and his man unreadable, cold and impassive, a mark of their world, where one wrong emotion could mean their downfall. Though Billy Kimber's expression was unmoving, his gaze kept flicking over to where she sat, beady eyes raking across her face and body.

He stood up suddenly, walking away from his table and heading straight for her, smirking.

"Can I have this dance?" He asked as he approached, standing beside her and extending his hand, claw-like fingers and a piercing glare giving him the appearance of a hungry bird, out for the hunt.

She sighed inwardly, stubbing out her cigarette and accepting his offer before she could cower out, letting him pull her onto the dance floor. They music was more formal now, and they waltzed slowly, Kimber holding Elizabeth uncomfortably close. He kept his hand high on her back, for which she was grateful, but it did nothing to stop the way her skin crawl at the look in his eyes, the way he grinned smugly every time he looked back at where Tommy sat and the feel of his breath on her cheek.

"I'm thinking," he whispered into her ear, "that we might enjoy some time together later. I'd like that very much."

His gaze one of lust, like the bird had finally caught its meal.

With those words, he released her, moving back to his table and leaving Elizabeth standing alone. She waited and watched with anticipation as Kimber whispered something to Tommy. They both glanced over at her, Kimber's eyes flicking up and down her body, and then Tommy was moving towards where she'd settled at the bar, guilt plagued across his face, the emotion out of place on him.

The affair was over and done within a matter of seconds, from Kimber leaving her to Tommy approaching, and it was a bitter feeling, the knowledge that her fate had been sealed by two men who believed they had a say over her and her body.

"Liza-"

"Don't fucking speak to me," she hissed at Tommy as he began, leaning close to his side, so that he could hear exactly what she had to say. "You promised Tommy, you fucking promised there was no other reason for bringing me here." He opened his mouth to speak again, but she shot him a cold look to shut him up. "You know what, though, I'm not surprised. I was stupid enough to trust you, Tommy, and that's no one's fault but mine. I should never have fucking trusted you."

"I didn't plan- "

"Don't bullshit me." She scoffed bitterly, pushing away from the bar and straightening her dress, looking over at where Kimber sat, eyeing her greedily.

Tommy grasped her elbow as she began to walk, and Elizabeth lurched to a stop, outraged at his physical attempt to stop her. She snapped her head to the side, glaring at him with wrath-filled eyes.

"I'll be right behind, you won't be with him for five minutes, I'll get you ou-"

"I don't need you to fucking save me," her words were spat at him, rich with contempt and disgust.

Tommy looked at her in disbelief, but she simply shook out of his grip and strode towards Billy Kimber.

~~~~~

Elizabeth followed him down a wide corridor, the thick, red carpet that blanketed the floor reducing her footsteps to silence, stopping as he paused beside a large double-doorway and pushed the heavy oak doors open to enter into the billiards room. She walked in behind him, looking around at the lavishly decorated space. A pool table sat in the middle of the room, and bookcases covered the walls either side of her. Elizabeth wandered across the floor to the large windows that looked out over the vast expanse of his land, framed by expensive yards of curtain.

Behind her, the gramophone began to play slow music, and she looked over her shoulder to see Billy Kimber pouring himself a drink. He met her gaze and smiled, downing the glass of alcohol and moving closer to her, a hand outstretched. She forced a smile and accepted it, letting Kimber bring her close to him. Unlike at the dance, as they swayed alone and unwatched, his hand didn't stay on her back but rather moved down her body, coming to rest on her bum, whilst his other gripped her hand tight to direct her movements. She swallowed uncomfortably but didn't move away, trying not to break the façade quite yet.

He led Elizabeth away from the window in dance, his head inching closer to hers, hot breath on her jaw as his head moved down towards her neck, letting go of her hand and grasping her waist, dragging her closer to him. She placed her hand tentatively on his shoulders, trying to push him away, but he didn't seem to feel her.

She thought back to an hour earlier, when she'd been with Tommy, and how her heart had been beating fast as their faces came so close in their dance. And then she thought about now, and how her heart beat fast as Kimber's lips touched her neck, but this time it wasn't with excitement, but instead with disgust and fear.

She couldn't take it any longer.

Elizabeth pushed harder at his shoulders and shoved him away, taking a step back. They were both breaking heavily, and a dark look crossed his face, which was growing red with anger.

"What the fuck was that about?" He demanded, taking a step to try and close the gap between them again.

"I'm so sorry, Mr Kimber," she cried out, putting her hands up and stepping back. "I'm so sorry but I can't do this!"

"Sorry?" He was still angry, almost shaking, and she wanted nothing more than to hit him in his face, several times, for getting so mad over her refusal. He didn't own her body, but she knew that men like him thought they did, and so she knew how important it was to play the next move right.

"I have to confess the truth to you Mr Kimber, I just can't keep lying to you." She pleaded, letting tears fill her eyes as she tried to look as innocent as possible, "it's just destroying me, I can't do this to you, no matter what I want."

His anger was fading into confusion, and she knew her sickening act was working. He opened and closed him mouth uncertainly, finally nodding, agreeing to hear her story.

"No... no matter what you want?"

"Do you remember when you came to the Garrison, Mr Kimber? I was working there that day- I served you- before I got sent home. That was the first time I had ever seen you Mr Kimber, but I just couldn't stop thinking about you, wishing I could have stayed longer that night, wishing I could meet you again, though I doubt you would ever remember someone as unnoticeable as me."

"I did remember you," he replied hesitantly, "I asked Thomas fucking Shelby to bring you today."

She hadn't known that, but it fit perfectly with her story, and so she began to cry.

"I just wanted to meet you properly, and when I came along today I was so happy, I was finally getting what I'd dreamt of, but to get so close to you, to hear you'd wanted me- it should make me so happy, but it only fills me with such shame Mr Kimber, because I haven't been entirely honest with you." She took a deep breath and stepped forward, taking his hand and whispering her next words. "I have the Clap, Mr Kimber! Oh god... it's so horrible isn't it, and how disgusting I must seem to you now! Do you see now that's why I couldn't go through with tonight, because to lie and cheat you like that, just for my own enjoyment- it would be sinful, Mr Kimber, sinful."

Billy Kimber looked at her in shock, but she could see that there was pity in his eyes, and she almost smiled at that look. Men's pity was a wonderful thing sometimes.

"I hope you can forgive me, Mr Kimber, for being so cruel. I'm just a simple woman, I know, and I'm sure you can forget about me."

Kimber nodded slowly, seeming unsure on how to react. His lip was curled up, and his free hand was clenched in a fist, but he wasn't angry at her, that Elizabeth was certain of.

"Did Thomas know?" He finally found his voice, asking the question with urgency. "Did he set this up?"

"Of course not! Never! Mr Shelby owed me a favour from a long time ago, and so I made him bring me along, that's all. He thought I'd please you, it's why he agreed to let me come, so the fault is entirely mine!"

She made herself cry again, and this time Kimber squeezed her hand gently where she still held onto him, happy to provide comfort now his risk of scandal and loss of face from Tommy was gone. She could tell that he pitied her for being so weak, her performance of devotion for him feeding his ego, and she knew that she'd been leaving this room, and this house, in only a matter of minutes, never to return again.

_How important men think they are_ , Elizabeth mused as Kimber let her out the room, _and how fucking pathetic they can be._

_~~~~_

She waited patiently by the gate onto the estate, hands clasped around her purse, looking up the road that led to the house. She had been there hardly five minutes before the car emerged around the bend of the road, dust spitting up from the wheels. Tommy was driving fast, and she thought at first that he might not have noticed her, and would speed past her without stopping, but the automobile did finally come to a halt, bringing him directly in line with her.

Tommy looked down at her incredulously, unsure of what to say. She barely looked at him, however, walking around to the other side of the car, where the woman that she'd seen with Kimber was sitting.

"You shouldn't go back into that house," Elizabeth said to her as she climbed from the car, "you should leave him."

"I know," she sighed remorsefully, smiling at her, before walking away, up through the gates and to the manor.

Elizabeth watched her for a moment, before turning away and getting into the seat beside Tommy. He was silent, unmoving, and she looked at him, raising her eyebrows in question.

"Are you going to drive?"

"Did he hurt you?" He asked, almost interrupting her as she spoke.

Elizabeth laughed, turning away from him.

"I didn't realise you cared?"

"Liza-"

"Are you going to drive, Tommy, or will you make me walk home as well?"

He nodded sharply and drove away.

* * *

(26/10//2020)


	16. Chapter 15

**5 Oct.  
1917** **  
** **Toul, France**

_Tommy,_

_Life has been treating us cruelly this past week. It's been the busiest week in a long time, and I've had very little sleep or rest in many days. There was an attack on the British trenches that left us quite overwhelmed, but things have finally died down today, and I've had a minute to write to you._ _  
_ _Alongside the work, the weather has also been terrible. I complained about the rain last week, and since then it's only gotten worse, as it started to snow on Wednesday. Walking to and fro through the mud is bad enough, but I really can't stand working in the snow. My feet haven't been truly warm once in these past few days, and it leaks through the tent much more than the rain does. The wind started up last night as well, shaking us half to death as we tried to work, and it keeps all the poor men awake._ _  
_ _It's not all miserable though. There really is nothing more beautiful than emerging from wherever you've been in the night to the outside world and seeing the expanse of white before you. It is truly breath taking, even if it's only for a minute, before it's turned brown by everyone walking across it. The snows everywhere you look, covering the scars of the land. And it seems to bring you boys such joy as well. The ones that can get up and move like to throw snowballs and then sit with hot cups of tea to warm their fingers. It's quite something. I wonder if it's snowing where you are?_ _  
_ _I had a letter from Polly a fortnight ago, and Finn had written to me. His writing is getting along well, as I'm sure you know. He wrote to tell me that he did well in a maths test, that he'd helped Polly bake a cake for Rupert's fourth birthday, and that he's got a cat. There was little more information on the subject that that, but Polly explained. She said he found a bag of kittens in the Cut, that someone must have abandoned them. Some people are terrible. He wanted to keep them all, bless him, but Polly insisted he gave the others away. The one he's kept he has called Huckleberry. I imagine it's because that makes the two of them Huckleberry and Finn. Polly says it's a sickly thing, but Finn is determined to make it strong. I'm sure you know all this, but it's something sweet nonetheless. I try to think how different he must look after so long, but I imagine I will only ever think of your brother as six years old._ _  
_ _Thinking now, I'm certain I had a cat at nine as well. Was it the one that ran away? The one I made you and George look for all weekend?_ _  
_ _Polly also said you would be back on the front at the start of this week, which must be difficult this time of year. I thought I'd try to cheer you up by writing about a thought I had whilst working last night. I was sitting with a soldier; his name is Private Edwards. He was talking about what he'd do when he got home (he's being sent back to England tomorrow) and he said he wants to go to a dance the first night he's back. He talked about a bar near his road, and a girl who's been sending him letters that he's going to ask with him. Then he said something that reminded me of you._ _  
_ _He said that he was actually a terrible dancer, but with a few drinks in him he could waltz for England. I couldn't help but laugh at that, and thought back to the times we went dancing, before you went away. We would go to the Empire in Birchfield. The place always stunk, and their drinks were awful, but no one knew us, or even recognised us, and the music was good. I'm sure we would go a few times a week, after my evening shifts. But it's been so long now I can't really remember. I do remember, though, that you wouldn't let us start dancing until you'd had at least two drinks. That's what reminded me of you when Private Edwards spoke._ _  
_ _You couldn't dare dance until you were a bit drunk. You would step on my feet or go the wrong way, which I admit was good fun, but embarrassing. I would tell you that you were just overthinking it, which I imagine is why you would drink before. You can't overthink anything with gin clouding your thoughts. You'd be the best dancer then, and we'd show up everyone else at the bar. You'd spin me around and make me out of breath, and they were my happiest nights of the week. After, we'd stumble home, and you'd make me laugh the whole way back. I don't imagine I ever told you, Tommy, but I wouldn't be able to go to sleep once I got back. I would stay awake, staring at the ceiling, smiling. Smiling like such a fool._ _  
_ _I know these nights only happened in the few months between the start of the war and you leaving. Perhaps they happened just because of the tension of war, or maybe because my brother wasn't home, or was there really something between us? I may never know if you felt the same about those dances as I did, but I can hope. One day we will dance again, Tommy, that I am sure of. Until then, I trust this memory will do. Although perhaps it ended up being more bittersweet than happy._ _  
_ _I hope you are doing as well as you can. Keep safe and keep dry, trench foot only gets worse in winter._ _  
_ _Missing you, as always,_ _  
_ _Ever yours,_ _  
_ _Liza_

* * *

(26/10/2020)


	17. Chapter 16

**6 June 1919**

There was a warmth in the air today, a sticky heat that confirmed the coolness of spring had been chased away by the summer months. The trees were blanketed in green leaves, wild flowers and thick grass covered the ground, and, except for the gentle song of a bird in the distance, there was silence.

Elizabeth stood before the three graves, hands tucked into the pockets of her skirt and eyes downcast, not quite tearful, but certainly stormy if you caught a glance. She was still, almost like stone, as if she believed she could trick nature by not moving, that the flowers would bloom across her skin and she'd disappear into the world around her. Though her body was still, it did nothing to stop the battle in her mind. Racing thoughts that were shouting and screaming at each other, so loud that Elizabeth wouldn't be surprised if someone all the way back in Small Heath could hear them.

He had stopped the car outside her flat two days ago, and she'd gotten out the vehicle and walked inside without looking back once. Elizabeth had forced herself out of bed the next day, forced herself to walk down the road, forced herself to complete her shift at the Garrison. She had, however, let herself rush back home after, not stepping a foot down Watery Lane, where he might be.

She was willing to give him a bit of credit though, for keeping away. John and Arthur had come tumbling into the pub at lunch yesterday, laughing, shouting, complaining about their sour brother who'd refused to come along and asking Elizabeth if she knew _"What the fuck was up with him today?"._

She'd let out a sigh of relief.

Today she was free, her one day off a week. Normally she'd go to Watery Lane, help get the children up and away to school and then sit and talk with Polly and Ada, like the old days. Polly would be wondering where she was, and eventually would come looking for her. Elizabeth would be ready to deal with it all in a few days, but right now she just couldn't stomach Polly knowing. And Polly would know the minute she saw her.

What had happened with Kimber wasn't what hurt her the most. She'd done a lot of thinking about it and knew that she could let something like that go. It could have been so much worse, and starting work in the Garrison at fourteen had taught her all she needed to get out of situations like that. It made her feel sick, but she could deal with that.

What really hurt was the betrayal. The fact that Tommy had promised it was just a dance, that all he wanted was to take her out, but then had turned around and sold her like a whore. Like she meant nothing to him. And had then expected his promise of saviour would heal everything.

As if he wasn't the one she needed saving from.

And what hurt the most was the knowledge that Tommy was no longer the person she'd known. The boy from before the way, gentle and kind, was lost from her forever, and now she would have to decide if she could love this new Thomas like she'd loved the old one, or if after a decade, finally, she'd have to let it all go.

Love could be so beautiful, but choose the wrong person, and it could become poisonous.

"It fucking throws me every time." John's voice came from behind her, making Elizabeth jump and snap her head around.

He was stood a few paces away, hands in his pockets, cigarette between his lips and his gaze focused on her family's graves.

"What does?" She replied, watching him as he came to her side, before looking at the headstones herself.

"Seeing three," John mumbled, "It ain't right that there's any at all, but three.. Jesus, it's..."

"I know," Elizabeth said softly, unable to find the words either.

His hand rested momentarily on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Her thoughts had silenced slightly at John's arrival, and she was unwilling for them to start again, so Elizabeth broke the quiet.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, turning to face him.

"Visiting the missus," John responded.

His tone was casual and sarcastic, yet it filled Elizabeth with remorse.

"Shit, sorry John, of course."

She felt embarrassed that she'd forgotten, but it was still so strange that Martha was gone. The last time Elizabeth had seen her, she had been nine months pregnant and full of life. Somehow, in the years Elizabeth was gone, that life had been snuffed out and crushed as if she hadn't meant the world to so many people. The killer had been ruthless. Spanish flu. An invisible monster that had crept up on so many young lives, lives that had survived war, only to be taken by influenza. They haunted her dreams, the soldiers, nurses and doctors alike, blue faces that swam before her, blood dripping from their mouths.

She'd gotten sick herself, late last year, the flu ripping through Abbeville like a holy pestilence.

The locals had said it was God trying to cleanse the land.

Demelza had looked after her, looked after them all; Elizabeth, Vanessa and Emma had lay confined in their beds, coughing and choking from the sickness, but still she'd refused to leave their side. She had said firmly that the four of them had been all the way down the Front together, that they had been by each other's sides through shelling and enemy fire and threat of German advance, and nothing could make them part now. Her efforts meant the three of them had survived.

Two nights later they had woken to Demelza in a coughing fit, within the hour she was vomiting blood, by morning light she lay cold. Demelza was five years older than Martha, and a week from turning 28.

_Such wasted lives_ , Elizabeth thought with burning anger.

"You thinking about something?" John asked, pulling her suddenly from her mind.

"Do you believe in God?" She replied, looking him in the eye. John seemed taken aback by her seemingly random question, unsure on how to answer.

"Don't know if a graveyard is really the place to discuss faith, Eliza." He said meekly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"That's a yes, then."

"You don't believe." It wasn't so much of a question that he asked, as a statement. Not even a statement, but rather like he was revealing some knowledge he'd known all along.

"No, I do believe in him," she said quietly, words dripping with malice, "I just fucking hate him."

John cursed softly at that, putting a hand around her waist and leading her away.

"I have no truck with you hating God, love," he muttered, walking them across the grass, "but here is not the place to say it."

"I never took John Shelby to be someone who would fear God," she said jokingly, trying to lighten the dark mood she hadn't meant to create.

"I fear three things in life, Eliza," he said very seriously, "France, God, and above all else, my kids."

She held his gaze with intense sombreness for a few beats, before they both began to laugh, swaying as they walked, linked together like two drunk fools.

"You're kids are fucking terrifying John," Elizabeth giggled, resting her forehead on his shoulder as she tried to calm down.

"Bring it up with Martha then, if you dare." He said, coming to a stop.

Elizabeth looked up, stomach twisting. The grave was simple, clean and new, with wilting flowers lay in front of it. It read simply:

_**'Martha H. Shelby** _ _**  
** _ _**Loving mother, wife and daughter** _ _**  
** _ _**Died June 29th 1918** _ _**  
** _ _**Aged 23 years'** _

"Martha has nothing to do with it," she said sullenly, "she'd never have been able to calm their Shelby blood"

She watched silently, as John walked forward, slipping of his cap and pressing a tender kiss to the top of the headstone. He'd changed so much since before the war, that Elizabeth had almost forgotten the side of him that had flourished around Martha. The love in his eyes when he looked at her, an arm always around her, a grin across his face.

She took his place once he'd drawn back slightly, placing her hand on the cool stone and closing her eyes, remembering. After, Elizabeth re-joined him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He put one arm over her shoulders, and she rested her cheek on his shoulder.

"I forgot to bring fresh flowers," he croaked, voice breaking.

"I'm so sorry John," was all she could manage to whisper before lulling into a bittersweet, teary silence.

The midday sun was burning by the time they made their way back down to the Cut, a small bit of happiness returning. Their smiles had come back and they were joking and playing, shoving each other in the side every now and then. Elizabeth had even managed to catch John off guard as they closed the gate into the graveyard, pushing him in the stomach and watching, laughing, as he went tumbling backwards, legs over his head down the hill.

"Fuck off," he grumbled, picking himself up gingerly.

"I can't believe you didn't see that coming John," she laughed, the sunlight on her face seeming to warm her soul. "Fuck, imagine if that was anyone else, sending a Blinder down the hill."

"I'd fucking kill you," he continued to mutter, ego hurt. Once he'd caught up with her, he gave Elizabeth a playful shove in the shoulder, winking. "But then Tommy'd kill me."

Her laughter faded out, and she cleared her throat, looking away from John.

"What?" he asked stupidly, "Aw, come on Eliza I was only joking."

"I know," she smiled at him, elbowing his bicep, "still, fuck off."

He grinned, darting in front of her suddenly and lifting her up by her waist. John tossed Elizabeth up, so that her stomach pressed against his shoulder, her arms beating down on his back as she tried to get down.

"John!" she laughed, hand smacking his neck, "let me go! Get the fuck off me!"

He only laughed in response, a good, deep laugh that left a smile on her face.

"You piece of shit." She sighed, relaxing slightly so her chest tilted forward, hands still pressed on his back to keep her upright.

"Tell me what happened at Cheltenham and I'll let you go." She rolled her eyes at his request.

"I can't fucking tell you anything stuck up here."

"Tough luck." He started making his way down the hill, moving too fast for her liking.

"If you fall over John, I swear to God-"she was cut off as his foot slipped slightly, an uninvited scream coming from her mouth. John regained his balance laughing.

Years ago, back when they hated each other, she would have grimaced at the thought of John hoisting her over his shoulder, scoffed at the mere idea of them laughing together like this. Elizabeth realised, though, stuck on his shoulder, that she would take this over what they used to have any day. She didn't know how exactly things had changed, but they had, and it was refreshing to have someone to laugh and joke with.

That person had once been Tommy, but that was no more. It hurt if she thought about it too much.

John reached a particularly steep part of the path, where the gravel was loose and it was still muddy, and the risk of falling was too great. Reluctantly, he let her down, and they walked side by side again. And, as they made their way back into the city, she told him all about Cheltenham. By the time she'd finished he was almost red with anger.

"You want me to kill him?" John was not joking.

"No," she sighed, almost reluctantly, "I don't want you to kill him."

"Then at least let me beat some sense into him, Eliza," he pleaded, halting in his tracks, putting a hand on her shoulder, "I've wanted to do it for months now, so it doesn't have to just be because of you."

"John, if I wanted to beat sense into him, trust me, I would have done it myself," she patted his hand, "what I would really like is for someone to beat some mercy into him."

"I have no chance at that," he grimaced, offering her a cigarette, and sighing, "seems like we need Polly's."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement.

**7 June 1919**

Tommy opened the back door and walked into the kitchen. It was empty, but the doors were open into the betting shop, and the noise was overwhelming. He sighed. It had been a busy week. Shit with Freddie, shit with Kimber, shit with Liza and now even more, fucking shit with the Coppers. Word had it that Inspector Campbell was organising an arrest warrant for a member of the Peaky Blinders, though he couldn't for the life of him find out who it was. He spread his hands out across the table, closing his eyes and pushing backwards, trying to work some of the tension out his back and shoulders. He looked up to the sound of impending footsteps. John and Polly were walking towards him, murder in their eyes.

_Brilliant, shit with my family too_ , Tommy thought.

John stopped to shut the doors, but Polly kept advancing towards him. Once she got close, her hands came flying out at him. One thudded against his chest, the other against his jaw. She caught him of guard, and Tommy fell back a step. Her hands kept coming, another blow against his chest, but he managed to grab Polly's wrists to stop her, thunder in his eyes.

"Poll what the fuck?"

"Don't 'what the fuck me', Thomas," she hissed, the storm in her own eyes reflecting his. No one had ever wondered who he'd got that look from. "I'd have your balls out if I thought you had any left."

"What's that supposed to mean, Polly?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her, looking tired in a way that he knew would piss her off even more.

She snatched her hands away from him, hitting his bicep and marching back towards John. Before she reached him though, she spun around and pointed a finger at Tommy, eyes sharp.

"You are a coward, Thomas. A coward and a fool. You have chosen your father's devilment and heaven help us all." She threw her hands into the air, pushing the double doors open as she walked, letting them slam shut behind her.

John was much calmer, standing smoking, back against the wall. But though his head was hung, and his body still, Tommy could still recognise the sour look on his brother's face, the anger that coursed through him as he sucked on his cheek.

"Anything to add John?" Tommy sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. His tone was bored and cold, just the way he'd perfected it over the years, but, hidden deep where no one would ever see, something hurt within him. He didn't like his family mad at him, he didn't like to disappoint them, but he knew he had. And knowing that it was his actions at Cheltenham, his treatment of Eliza, that was the reason they were disappointed, it made it even worse. He already hated himself for what he'd done, Tommy didn't need other people to as well.

"You know something, Tommy." John spat all of a sudden, glancing up at his brother. "You don't really understand the meaning of family until you've had kids, and a wife. And it's a shame, you know, cause Eliza was the only real chance you'd ever get at a life like that, and now you've fucked it all up."

John pushed himself off the wall, chuckling sarcastically, and walked forwards, taking his cap off and putting his cigarette out on the table. Tommy was watching John's actions, so his fist came out of nowhere. It slammed into Tommy's jaw, the bitter taste of blood filling his mouth and pain bursting across his cheek. He went spinning to the side, catching himself on the table as he bent over, holding his face where he'd been hit. Tommy spat out blood and rose, looking at John incredulously.

"That was for Eliza," John snarled, looking satisfactorily at the bruise that was rising on Tommy's face. "And for selling her out like she wasn't the only person you had left on your side."

Tommy wouldn't normally take a beating from his brothers, but just this once, even he was willing to admit he deserved it.

**8 June 1919**

"Can I have a tonic, darling?" Polly asked, leaning against the window between the private room and the bar. "And another one for you, if you don't mind sitting with me."

"I'll give you five minutes cause Harry's on his break," Elizabeth replied, "just don't let him catch me." She winked at Polly, who laughed, and made the two drinks, coming into the private room to sit.

"He's been so strange, lately." Elizabeth complained, sitting down.

"Who?" Polly asked, sipping her drink.

"Harry. He seems distant. He doesn't turn up to work as much anymore, and when he's here he's so paranoid." Elizabeth shrugged, drinking. "It's just strange, that's all."

"You could talk to him?" Polly suggested. The two looked at each other, smirking.

"Poll, when am I ever the first person to start conversation about emotional things." She emphasised her final words, as if she was a sulking teenage boy.

"You sound like Finn," Polly chastised right on cue. Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh, prompting Polly to sigh wearyingly.

"Talking of distant," she continued, ignoring Elizabeth's laughs "I haven't seen much of you lately. This is the first time we've talked in five days."

"I know what you're suggesting Polly." Elizabeth drawled, slumping in her seat, "and I'm sorry I haven't seen you because of it, but I just don't think I can see..."

"Him." Polly finished for her, her voice filled with disgust, "Tommy is a fool, Eliza, and I gave him a smack on the chin for what he did, though before you ask- when you seem him next- John was the one who gave him the bruise."

Polly had a dark, angry look on her face, but there was also satisfaction that Elizabeth understood. She'd come back to Watery Lane if it meant seeing where John had punched Tommy.

"If I had my way, I'd throw him on the street for it, but for heaven's sake, Eliza, you can't avoid him forever- or us."

Elizabeth blushed guiltily, knowing the truth in Polly's words. It didn't make it any easier, but she knew she couldn't keep it up forever. Still, Elizabeth was keen to change the conversation.

"You know, Poll, all we seem to talk about is men. I'm sick of it." She said, with the start of a sly smirk emerging across her face. She was teasing Polly lightly, but she meant it. "Tommy this, Freddie that, Harry, John, the Lees. We are actually allowed to discuss other things, you know, even though we're women."

"Only if we discuss these things in Watery Lane." Polly retorted, failing to repress her own smile at Elizabeth's words.

"Done." She gave in, throwing her hands up and letting them slap against her legs. "So, what interests you at the moment Polly? Communism?"

"I am sick to my teeth about communism, Eliza," Polly rolled her eyes, lighting a cigarette, the two of them laughing.

Through the opening of the room's window, Elizabeth unexpectedly caught sight of Harry coming back into the bar. Trying to hide her laughter, she dashed back into the main room, feeling much more resolved than at the start of the day.

* * *

(22/12/2020)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update! Its so shocking how long it takes me to write, but you know.. school :/ I have a plan for this story, and we're hardly half way through. Anyone who manages to last to the end with have my deepest respect, my god. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, I liked it a lot. See you soon (hopefully!)
> 
> e x


	18. Chapter 17

**12 June 1919**  
  
Elizabeth wiped her hands on her apron before removing it, tucking it under the bar and going into the private room. Arthur was stretched out lazily along the bench, a half-drunk bottle of whiskey in front of him, which she’d put there, newly opened, this morning. John was sat in a chair, his gaze unmoving from a spot on the table, not looking up as Elizabeth walked over to him and gave his shoulder a squeeze. She could tell he was nervous.   
  
“You alright John?” She asked, leaning against a spot on the wall between the two brothers.   
  
He nodded, jaw tensed, but didn’t say a word. Elizabeth caught Arthur’s eye and raised an eyebrow questioningly, but he only shrugged, as clueless as her on the subject of this family meeting.

When John had walked into the Garrison a few minutes ago, he’d rushed straight into the room, head down and eyes averted. He ignored Eliza’s greeting, his mind somewhere else entirely. Confused, she’d gone to the bar to get his usual bottle of whiskey, and just as she’d got it down from the shelf, Arthur had knocked the window open and called her inside, explaining John had called a family meeting, his tone of voice hinting at amusement over his brother’s demand. Elizabeth had briefly considered protesting, wondering if she had any right to be in the family meeting. Not being blood had never been a problem before the war, but something told her it could be an issue now. Then she rolled her eyes, chastising herself. The only person who would have an issue with her attending the meeting would be Tommy and honestly, she couldn’t care less about what he thought at the moment.   
  
It had been over a week since Cheltenham, but they’d still exchanged nothing more than a brief glance at passing, and she had actively avoided any confrontation with him. Polly had insisted she should talk to him about what had happened, Elizabeth had insisted he didn’t even deserve her time of day. A part of her though, really wanted an explanation for why he’d done what he had, and yet she also knew that some things are easier left unsaid.   
  
The three of them waited in awkward silence, eyes downcast, until the door opened up again. Polly entered first, gifting Elizabeth a smile as she made herself comfortable in a chair beside John, removing her coat and turning her attention to him. Tommy came in second, shutting the door behind him.   
  
“Alright John, there’s only one man guarding the house, so what’s troubling you?“ 

Tommy crossed the room and took his place behind John, leaning back on the shelf that jutted out from the window. And though he focused his attention on his brother, it was clear to Elizabeth what his intentions were. With all the space in the room that he could have chosen to stand in, Tommy had settled right beside her. It seemed he was taking matters into his own hands. He used his position by her side to angle himself against her, the rough fabric of his suit jacket pressing against her bare skin. 

She looked briefly at their touching arms and then titled her head up to his face. His blue eyes were focused entirely on John, refusing to meet Elizabeth’s gaze, but instead leaning further into her, his way of acknowledging her stare. 

She sighed, slumping back against the wall and crossing her arms to bring them away from him. In response to that, Tommy moved his hand slightly, fingers coming up to brush against her elbow, before dropping back down. Elizabeth glared at him. He glanced back, smirking.   
  
John cleared his throat to begin.   
  
“Polly, you know what it’s been like- since Martha died.”  
  
“God takes the best first.” Polly touched his hand gently.   
  
“Truth is, my kids have been running bloody rings around me. Running barefoot with the dogs until all hours.” John was struggling to speak, clearly apprehensive about what he had to say.   
  
“Pol,” Tommy sighed, “give him ten bob for some shoes. Is that it John?”   
  
Elizabeth couldn’t help but jab him with her elbow, giving him a look that said to shut up. Tommy raised his eyebrows at her. She looked away, smiling.   
  
“Tommy, it would be better to do this without you.” Polly huffed, glaring at him. She looked back at John, impatient, “now what’s your point?”   
  
“What these kids need is a mother... so that’s why I’m getting married.”  
  
“Fucking hell.” Elizabeth whispered under her breath.   
  
The room seemed to freeze a bit. Arthur glanced first at Polly, and then Eliza, a look of alarm on all their faces. Tommy just looked at the ceiling in frustration.   
  
“Does this poor girl know you’re going to marry her, or are you going spring it on her all of sudden?” Polly asked with disbelief.   
  
“I’ve already proposed and she said-“ he cleared his throat, “-she said ‘yes’.”   
  
Elizabeth ran a hand over her face, squeezing the bridge of her nose and shaking her head.   
  
“I think there’s a shell about to land and go bang.” Tommy muttered, lighting a cigarette.   
  
She couldn’t help but agree.   
  
“Did you know about this?” Polly asked, judging eyes that had flitted to Tommy as he spoke, now moving onto Elizabeth.   
  
“Of course not,” she scoffed, before asking a question she wasn’t sure anyone wanted an answer to: “Who is it John?”  
  
“It’s, er.. It’s Lizzie Stark.”   
  
Laughter filled the room. Elizabeth tipped her head back against the wall, eyes closed and shoulders shaking, before she let it roll to the side so that she could make eye contact with Tommy, any animosity forgotten as John’s words sent them back years, to easier times, when sharing laughter over his choices was common place. When Tommy glanced at Elizabeth, both were unable to contain a snort. Arthur and Polly were trying much harder then the other two to keep composed, attempting not to piss John off more than he all ready was.   
  
“John, I have to get back to work, can you please be serious.” Elizabeth sighed, positive it must be a joke.   
  
“Why would that be funny, hey?” John shouted, hands slamming on the table, “I’m not fucking joking!”   
  
“All right, calm down!” Polly reprimanded him, still unable to keep the smile from her face, “look, John, Lizzie Stark is a strong woman and I’m sure she provides a fine service for her customers-“  
  
“I won’t hear that word. Understand?” He yelled, face distorted in anger, finger pointing at Polly. “Do not use that word!”  
  
“What word is that John?” Tommy grunted, looking up at the ceiling.   
  
“You know what word that is.”  
  
“Everyone bloody knows!” Arthur chuckled.  
  
“Everybody can go to hell.”   
  
“Whore? That word? Or prostitute?” Tommy asked, anger rising in his voice.   
  
“Lady of the night?” Elizabeth added, catching Polly’s eye and having to avert her face to keep from laughing.   
  
Tensions were rising in the room. Polly, Tommy and John were all growing irritated, their anger bouncing off from each other. Elizabeth and Arthur were taking a more immature stance, trying not to laugh but still sharing looks they knew were liable to send each other into fits of laughter that could only make matters worse.   
  
“Right,” John’s voice was straining from rage, “I want it known that if anyone calls her a whore again, I will push the barrel of my revolver down their throats and blow the word back down into their hearts!”   
  
“Men and their cocks never cease to amaze me!” Polly threw her hands up in exasperation, staring him down, “John, Lizzie Stark never did a days work vertical-“  
  
“She’s changed, alright! People change!” John rose from his chair, eyes darting around wildly and settling on Elizabeth, “Eliza, come on, you know her. You talk, and- and you get her a drink sometimes.” He had a desperate air to him, “tell them about her, tell them that’s she’s nice and.. and-“  
  
“Yes, John, Lizzie Stark is a very nice girl.” She interrupted, her tone taunting, “she’s also got a pretty face, and I’m sure when she’s looking up at you with it, it makes you weak at the knees, but-“ She broke of laughing, shaking her head and unable to contain herself, “-but don’t be a fool! You can’t marry a whore, even if she is a nice one!”  
  
“Don’t use that word!” He spat, disappointed at her opposition.   
  
“Well it’s what she is John! And what exactly will you tell the kids, when they ask about their new mother?”   
  
“This is Lizzie,”Arthur suggested, lifting his glass of whiskey up in a mocking toast to John’s achievement, “Dad’s new business investment.”  
  
“Alright, I’m warning you Arthur-“  
  
“I know you were interested in learning how to ride a horse, Katie,” Elizabeth said with a smirk, as she added to Arthur’s suggestion, “and believe me, Lizzie’s the best at riding that there is-“   
  
“Fuck off Eliza!” John shouted, running a hand through his hair and turning to his brother, trying to calm down, “now listen, Tommy. I won’t do it without your blessing, but of all the people in the world, I want you to see it as brave.”  
  
“Oh, it’s brave alright.” Arthur teased.   
  
“Brave is going where no man’s gone before,”Polly laughed, head in her hands, “and with Lizzie Stark, John, that is really not what you’ll be doing!”   
  
“Listen, Tommy.” John pleaded, “welcome her to the family, alright, because I need someone, the kids need someone-“  
  
But before anything else could be said, Finn burst through the door, panic written all over his face.  
  
“Tommy!” He gasped, “we’ve been done over!”  
  
~~~  
  
The betting shop had been destroyed. Chairs and tables upturned, papers thrown everywhere and the contents of every box and drawer emptied onto the floor. John and Arthur helped a half-conscious Scudboat into a chair, and as the others went about trying to assess the full extent of the shop’s damage, Elizabeth gave him a look over. His injuries detailed nothing more than a cut to the head, but it was bleeding profusely, and so she kept a cloth pressed on the wound whilst he made friends with a bottle of whiskey.   
  
The rag was soaked through before long, and in need of a replacement. Elizabeth made her way into the kitchen to find a clean cloth and wash her hands, her fingers red with blood. She passed Tommy, mulling about the doorway and kicking at paper on the floor, who followed her into the house. She tossed the bloody rag in the sink and turned on the tap, letting the water warm up before scrubbing at her hands. Tommy leant against the table, clearing his throat so that she would look over her shoulder at him.   
  
“Yes?”   
  
“I think there’s something we should talk about.”   
  
She sighed, drying her hands and passing him to get Scudboat’s cloth out the cupboard.   
  
“Is now really the time Tommy?” She asked, turning to face him.   
  
“No,” he came closer, “but I don’t care.”  
  
“No, you don’t care.” She acknowledged.   
  
“What happened at Cheltenham...” he said quietly, his voice low, his eyes low also, focused on her lips.   
  
“Was unforgivable Tommy.” Elizabeth replied bluntly, stepping away from him and going back to the cupboard.   
  
“Liza-“  
  
“Give it up, Tommy, I-“ she spun back around to argue with him, but her attention was caught by something on the mantle, her voice fading away.   
  
It was a pair of wire cutters. Wire cutters that had definitely not been there before. Tommy followed her line of sight, and when he noticed what she was looking at, he walked over slowly, picking the metal object up. Elizabeth watched as he inspected them, a dark looking crossing Tommy’s face as he wandered back to the open doors.   
  
“They’ve taken anything they can lay their hands on. Four cash boxes!” She could hear Polly talking, but it felt like background noise. Something wasn’t right.   
  
“They left these.” Tommy said, holding the cutters up for everyone to see.   
  
She watched as Arthur and John’s faces dropped, their bodies tensing.   
  
“Wire cutters? Why would they leave wire cutters?” Polly asked, confused.   
  
“Nobody move!” Arthur’s voice was filled with panic.   
  
Alarmed, Elizabeth walked forward, but as she neared him Tommy’s hand shot out, pressing against her stomach. She froze, his palm warm against abdomen, her head snapping to the side to look at him. His jaw was clenched, his mind elsewhere, and though her cheeks blushed hot, something cold travelled through her.   
  
“I think our friends are playing the game.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Polly’s voice was loud, agitated, and as she began walking, John held out his hand to stop her.   
  
“Aunt Pol, don’t touch anything.” He said quickly.   
  
“Erasmus Lee was in France.”   
  
“Shit...” Scudboat rose gingerly, terror on his face.  
  
The men in the room weren’t in Birmingham anyone.   
  
“Whenever we gave up ground to the Germans, we’d leave behind booby traps, set up with wires.” As Tommy began to explain, Elizabeth began to understand, and suddenly she too was very far from this room. “We’d leave wire cutters, as part of the joke.”  
  
“Oh..” Her exclamation was soft, but her hands gripped tightly onto the cloth she held.   
  
She had seen what tricks like these did to men. Tommy’s hand pressed harder against her stomach.   
  
“Somewhere in here, there’s a hand grenade.” John explained, looking around.   
  
“Holy Jesus.”   
  
“Attached to a wire...” They all started to move slowly as Arthur spoke, turning where they stood, “don’t move any chairs, or open any doors...” Elizabeth looked around, eyes wide with panic. “Go easy, John boy, go easy.”  
  
“No.” Tommy’s voiced stopped everyone in their tracks, and they all looked at him. “No,’its not in here. If it was in here it would have blown by now. It was my name, on that bullet that Erasmus sent, he’s set up a trap all right, but he’s set it up just for me.”  
  
Tommy left the room without another word.   
  
~~~  
  
Tommy had been gone for barely a minute when the knock on the door echoed through the betting shop. Everyone had jumped at the noise, still tense from the recent events, and confused- even fearful- looks were shared. Perhaps it was that horrible atmosphere that cursed that knock, perhaps it was just all cursed from the beginning. But whatever the reason:  
  
 _That was the knock that changed everything.  
_  
“Who the fuck is that?” John snapped, kicking at a table leg and glaring at the door.  
  
Polly shrugged, and everyone payed little attention the caller, amused at whoever felt the need to knock.   
  
Another knock.   
  
“Open the door, Shelby’s, we know you’re in there.” It was Sergeant Moss.   
  
Elizabeth was sat in a chair, leafing through files and checking they were all there. She glanced up when the policeman’s voice was heard, looking apprehensively at Polly, the two of them wondering what shit the boys had got themselves in.   
  
“Let us in and we won’t need to make this worse than it is.” He shouted again, knocking on the door.   
  
Arthur walked over to the window slowly, flicking open the curtain and looking outside. He cursed loudly, and dropped the curtain.   
  
“There’s loads of them.”   
  
“Fucking Coppers,” John muttered, reaching for his gun, “someone needs to go out the back and find Tommy.”   
  
“John.” Polly warned, putting her hand up to stop him grabbing his weapon, “don’t do anything foolish. Arthur, ask them why they’re here.”  
  
Nodding, Arthur cleared his throat and went back over to the door. Nobody even dared to breath, just sharing looks of apprehension at what Moss would reply with.  
  
“What do you want?” Arthur called out to the door, shifting his feet from side to side.   
  
“Just let us come in and do what we’ve come to do, Arthur.” Moss replied, “if you keep hiding her it just makes things difficult.”  
  
“Her?” Arthur hesitated, looking back at Polly and Eliza, “What the fuck are you on about?”   
  
There was silence, no one seemed to know what to do.   
  
“We’re here for Miss Scott.”   
  
More silence. Arthur and John drew their guns. Elizabeth rose from her seat slowly. Polly looked at her with tears in her eyes.   
  
“Let’s not make this di-“   
  
“You take one step in here and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.” Arthur roared, aiming his gun at the door. John walked over to his brother, their backs blocking her view.   
  
“Shut up, Arthur, or we’ll have to talk you in as well,” Moss shouted back, “we went to the Garrison and they told us you’d all come here, so we could already arrest everyone in there for obstruction of justice. Just let us in.”  
  
“No.”   
  
There were muffled voices, and then the sound of something slamming against the door, making the wood rattle in its frame. Scudboat had found himself a gun as well, and Polly had reached her side, one arm stretched out across Elizabeth’s chest, trying to push her behind her.   
  
“Wait,” she said quietly, finding her voice, “Wait!”   
  
She called out loudly, stepping around Polly, and walking to the boys.   
  
“Put your guns down, I don’t want anyone getting killed.” She put her hand in John’s wrist, pushing his hands down. “We can go out the back, help me to the station and I can get a train back to London, I know someone I can-“   
  
The door burst open before she could finish her sentence. Having lowered their guns on her request, the boys couldn’t get them up fast enough again once the police came running into the betting shop. John and Scudboat were tackled, two policemen to one, the first slammed against the wall and the other bent over onto a table, head smacking on the wood. Arthur managed to pull the trigger of his gun, the bang exploding through the room. Whatever he was aiming at, however, he missed, and for his actions he got a fist in the face and three policemen wrestling him against the wall.   
  
She stop dumbly as her arms were pressed against her back, as Sergeant Moss’ voice filtered through her ears, unable to concentrate. Polly was shouting, maybe even crying, though the tears may have been her own. It all happened very slowly, like time was grinding to a halt, and the only distinct sound she managed to hear, before being dragged out the betting shop, was the word “murder”.   
  
The outside air sent her hurtling back to reality, and what was happening suddenly felt sickeningly real. Elizabeth looked behind her, desperately searching for Polly. The woman was being held back by a policeman, but her shouts and screams still reached Eliza.   
  
“Let her go! Let go of her! She can’t have killed anyone- are you mad- what fucking proof have you got of murder?- let her go!” Her pitch was high, screechy and desperate, and Elizabeth’s heart began to beat faster with every word Polly uttered.   
  
Her breathing quickened and she started twisting, trying to escape the hold they kept her in. She called back at Polly, eyes wide and filled with tears, shouting her name, pleading for her help. But soon she was half way up the road, and nothing she did could get her out the Coppers’ grip. Sergeant Moss was walking beside her, and when she heard him curse, her head twisted back around, eyesight moving from Polly to someone advancing towards them. It was Tommy. Running down the road, shouting something, Finn by his side.   
  
“What the fuck is going on?” He demanded as they all meet.   
  
He walked backwards, hands held up in front of him, though whether it was pleadingly, or to try and stop them moving, Eliza wasn’t quite sure.   
  
“Look, Tom, your brothers have already caused enough trouble-“  
  
“Just tell me what the fuck you’re taking her in for, ey?”   
  
“Tommy...” she whispered, tears beginning to fall.   
  
“I have arrested Elizabeth Scott for the murder of Mr Ryan Byrne, Thomas, on the 25th of May” Moss spat impatiently, “Now unless you want us to take you in as well, I suggest you move out the way.”   
  
“Tommy, help me,” Elizabeth pleaded suddenly, tears falling down her cheeks, “Tommy- I don’t even know who that is! I haven’t killed anyone- I can’t have killed anyone- I promise!”  
  
She took a deep, trembling breath, looking at him with wide and desperate eyes. She tried again to pull herself from the grip she was held in, struggling again the tight hold of the hands on her arms. Tommy continued walking backwards, reaching out to her so that his fingertips brushed against her shoulder.   
  
“I know, Liza,” he replied sincerely, looking her in the eye with such conviction she was sure it might free her of all accusations on the spot, “I know you didn’t kill him.”   
  
They had rounded the corner and were outside the Garrison, the Coppers pulling her to a halt. Moss was waiting for something. The lightness of Tommy’s fingertips turned into a hand squeezing her shoulder, the other one resting on her cheek.   
  
“You need to calm down,” Tommy said, trying to reason with her, his thumb brushing tears of her cheekbone.   
  
“And you need to let go of her.” Moss replied, though his order was ignored.   
  
“You have to get me out, Tommy. I didn’t do anything, I haven’t done anything- please!” She was rambling on, unable to stop the words that kept falling from her mouth, endless sentences of nothing, until someone emerged from the Garrison. A policeman, holding her bag.   
  
“Is it in there? Is it the right one?” Moss asked, looking at this new copper, who nodded once and pulled John’s gun out her bag, the one Tommy told her to keep.   
  
“The bullets match, sir.” The young policeman said, handing the weapon to the Sergeant.   
  
Elizabeth turned to look at Tommy, whose face had grown slack at the sight of the pistol. Moss nodded at the men who held her, and then they were moving again, back past the Garrison and to the top of Watery Lane. She looked down it, seeing the family gathered half-way up the street, still all held back by police. Polly was still shouting, holding onto Finn’s shoulders and Arthur and John, with bloody faces, were still fighting the Coppers. Moss only kept going, however, past the lane and to the next street down, where a police truck was parked out of sight. Someone opened the back doors. Her heart beat faster.   
  
Tommy stopped moving suddenly, when he saw it, and stood to the side, his face still as sorrowful and slack as when they’d pulled the gun from Elizabeth’s bag. He did nothing to stop them as they forced her into the back, only looking on sadly as she shouted for him, for his help. His blue eyes pierced hers, but it was like he couldn’t even see her.   
  
Seated on the wooden bench, his face was the last thing she could focus on before they shut the doors, plunging her into darkness. Elizabeth remembered suddenly something she had said to him at Cheltenham, words spat with such venom and certainty.   
  
_I don’t need you to fucking save me_  
  
But, looking at his face as they locked her in and feeling the bumps of the road as they drove away, Elizabeth felt there was nothing more she wanted then but for Tommy to save her, to keep her safe.   
  
And yet, it was too late.

* * *

(03/01/2021)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist!! Maybe? I’ve been trying to hint at this in previous chapters, but its been so long you’ve probably all forgotten by now! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, I really liked writing this chapter and rewatching John’s scene, its probably my favourite in all the series. Things will start getting more original now, and swaying a bit from the tv show story.
> 
> e x


	19. Chapter 18

14 June 1919

**Morning**

The small window through which the grey, morning glow filtered was the only source of light in her otherwise dark cell. As the square of grey grew brighter, it marked the rise of the sun, and the end of Elizabeth’s second night in prison.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes and pushing her hair out of her face. Her body and her stomach groaned in protest to this movement, but after much effort, she managed to get herself up. She paced around the small room a few times, easing the tension from her legs. It was a stark contrast to yesterday, where all she had done was drift between sleep and numb consciousness. Today, though, she felt more determined to be strong. She refused to let them get to her. They could continue denying her food and they could keep her locked in here, cold and alone, but still she would not relent. Elizabeth was innocent, and she was certain that was all that mattered.

The click of the lock made her jump, disturbing her thoughts. She whipped her head around to watch the door open, walking backwards until her legs hit the bed, trying to put as much distance between her and whoever was about to enter. The door creaked open, and in walked Inspector Campbell.

“Mr Murray!” Elizabeth gasped in shock, rushing over and taking his hand, “oh thank God! Someone who-“

The door shut suddenly behind him, locking them in the room. The Inspector yanked his hand from her grip and gave Elizabeth a cold look.

“You will address me as Inspector Campbell, Miss Scott,” he said, voice filled with ice, “now, sit.”

She stared at him, confused, but the dark room meant that the Inspector’s face was cast in shadow, so all she could see were his black eyes, glinting out at her in the dark like a hungry wolf. Eliza knew she was the prey.

“But you told me your name w-“

“I am well aware of what I told you, Miss Scott.” He sighed impatiently, “now let us begin.“

“You’re the Irish copper, aren’t you,” she realised, feeling like a fool, “you’re the one that beat Arthur, the one looking for the guns. Why did you lie to me?” She scoffed, finding the answer herself, “you really expected to get information out of me?”

“Enough!” He spat, stepping out the shadows, so that the light from the window illuminated his face “Be quiet. I am the one conducting the questioning here, not you.”

There was something in Campbell’s voice- a venom- that told Eliza she should be afraid of him; but she wasn’t. He was just a man. And a fool as well, if he thought a different name and a sweeter smile would get her to rat on her family. She had faced men, and learnt that they were not to be feared, and he was certainly going to be no different.

“I had hoped that perhaps you would be more… willing to talk, but our meeting showed me that was not the case, so this is the alternative.” The Inspector had been holding a file since he walked in, which he now tossed at her. “Inside this file is the case I will put towards the judge for your trial. I have witness statements that put you at the scene, character statements that paint a colourful picture of your tendency to violence and, most importantly, evidence of your guilt, through possession of the weapon used to kill Mr Byrne. You will undoubtedly be hanged, Miss Scott.”

“These are lies, Inspector,” she said, leafing through the file, “Not a word in here is true. These people don’t even know me.”

“It is rather impressive, is it not? How persuasive I can be.”

Elizabeth looked up at the Inspector to find him smiling. A smile filled with malicious joy.

“You know I didn’t do this.” She stated simply.

“Of course, Miss Scott. In fact, I know who actually killed Mr Byrne. But what I need you to know is that if you don’t agree to my conditions, I will not hesitate to let you take the fall for this crime. And mark my words, Miss Scott- that if I wish it so- you will fall.”

He stepped closer to her, his hands clasped in front of him. She could almost laugh at how confident he was in himself.

“When you are released from here, you will return to Watery Lane. You will continue life as normal, working at the Garrison, whoring for the Shelby’s- whatever it is you do, you will keep doing. And, at a time and place of my choosing, we will meet and you will tell me everything you have learnt, and most importantly, where the guns are hidden. Your trial will begin in a month, you have until then to comply.”

And then it all made complete, and utter sense. Of course he knew she was innocent, of course it wasn’t a mistake she was here. And of course it was because of Tommy. Time and time again it seemed as if all he could do was sacrifice those around him to his ambition. He had insulted her to her face when she didn’t tell him about Freddie, he’d handed her over to Kimber like a whore to seal an agreement, and now, she had been thrown in prison and accused of murder, all because of Thomas-fucking-Shelby.

Elizabeth was so angry for a minute that she almost agreed. But then she remembered his face, before the doors of the truck had been slammed shut, and how sad he had looked- how grief-stricken. So instead, she stood up and threw the file at the Inspector’s feet, scoffing.

“I will never betray my family, Inspector. Over my dead body will you get a fucking word out of me.” She looked him up and down, wearing her own malicious smile. “And if you think you can scare me, you’ve picked the wrong, fucking person.”

_Damn love, and what it could make you do._

“Like I said, Miss Scott, you have a month to comply.”

Inspector Campbell walked back to the door, rapping his knuckles on the wood to open it. His face remained calm and amused, seemingly unfazed by her outburst, but she could tell her was annoyed. He turned back to face her when the door opened, leaving her with some chilling words.

“I will confess to you, Elizabeth, it would be deeply disappointing to have to do this over your dead body. But if that is what must happen in order for me to get my guns back, I will not hesitate. You will be lying cold in the earth by summer.”

**Afternoon**

Harry Fenton clicked the locks shut on his case, heaving it from the bed and making his way quickly down stairs. He froze when he reached the bottom and opened the door. His wife was stood in the kitchen, her gaze moving slowly between him and the case in his grasp. She had come home early. 

“Harry?” She questioned, moving over to him.

“I have to go Maggie.”

“Go where? I didn’t know you were going on a trip.”

“It’s not a trip, Maggie- I’m leaving, for good.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” she muttered determinedly, taking a hold of his elbow and trying to guide him to the table. “Sit down and think things through. You’ve not been yourself lately- you’re not thinking right.”

He let her lead him to the table, where he collapsed into a chair, running a hand over his face and dropping his case to the floor.

“I’ve failed you, Maggie,” he whispered int0 his hand, tears prickling his eyes, “I’ve failed you all, and now I don’t know what to do.”

“What are you talking about, Harry? What could you have possibly done that’s this bad?” She questioned, sitting opposite him and taking his hand gently.

“I should never have done it, I don’t know what I was thinking- why I thought it might end differently to this-“ he broke off, taking a shaky breath, “he was going to kill me. I was only doing what I had been told to do- I was finding information, following leads- he was going to kill me so I had to shoot him!”

“What?” Maggie’s face dropped in confusion. “Now you really aren’t thinking right. What do you mean, Harry?”

Fenton looked at her desperately, gripping her hand with both of his.

“They are going to kill me. They dragged her away in front of every single, bloody Shelby, and once they find out it was because of me- they will kill me.”

“I don’t understand,” she murmured unwillingly, afraid to know the truth.

“The man they say she killed- she didn’t.” He shook his head and began to cry, “It was me, I killed him. I’ve been spying on the Shelby’s for the Irish copper, and I was only doing as he’d asked- following a lead, getting information. But it went wrong, and I had to kill him before he killed me. And I didn’t know what to do, I knew the inspector wouldn’t help me, so I swapped her gun with mine and I told the copper so he’d think I’d helped him and now- oh god, Maggie, I’m a murderer and a spy, and they’ll kill me!”

Maggie was only silent, withdrawing her hand slowly, the look in her eye turning to disgust. There was a thick tension in the room, outranked only by fear.

“How could you?” She said, voice heavy with emotion, “Thomas will kill you Harry. They’d gut you just for spying, but for this! For framing Eliza for murder- I may have wanted her for one of our boys, but even a fool can see he’s sweet on her- more than sweet. He will kill you, Harry, and then me, and then our boys. Did you think even stop to think about your sons?”

Her voice cracked, but she did not cry. She rose instead and turned away from him, gripping the sink to keep herself standing.

“It was her or me. I had no other choice.”

“You did have a choice, Harry!” She exclaimed, voice rising, “You should have made it when you first started spying, you should never have gone against them in the first place. You should have thought of our sons- of me! Twenty years, Harry, and I have given you only love and loyalty, and this is how you repay me?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered shamefully. “All I can say is I’m truly sorry, my dear.”

She turned around, glaring at him, a thunderous look on her face.

“And what use is an apology?” She hissed. “Will that save our boy’s lives? Tony was beaten half to death by Arthur not even six months ago. They will have no mercy for us, Harry, and that is your fault. I need you to go.”

“Maggie?” Fenton questioned, shocked.

“Go, now. Get out of my house.”

“Maggie… before I leave,” he began cautiously, “I just- I need to know you won’t say anything. I need to know I can trust you.”

“Trust me?” Her mouth turned up in disgust. “How dare you talk to me about trust.”

Harry nodded shamefully, knowing there was nothing more he could do to change anything. He rose slowly, picking up his case and walking across the kitchen. He paused at her side, reaching out to hold her shoulder.

“I love you, Maggie, and I am sorry- really sorry. I never meant to let you down like this.”

She swallowed painfully, glancing at him and touching his hand where it rested.

“I love you too, Harry.” She nodded once, and then turned away again.

 _How could it have come to this?_ He thought bitterly, as he let her go and left the house. _How could it have all gone so, awfully wrong?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!! It’s quite a short chapter but writing has been difficult with online school :(
> 
> e x
> 
> (20/01/2021)


	20. Chapter 19

**18 June 1919**  
  
“He’s my husband.” “And yet here you are Maggie.” 

Polly looked across the table at Maggie Fenton, who was fidgeting with a loose thread on her cardigan, looking at Polly desperately, as if she hoped all that she knew could be transferred through a look, rather than having to admit it out loud. She was a small woman, but her position, slumped back into the chair with her arms close to her body, made her look even smaller. She was nervous. Who wouldn’t be if they were sat across the table from Polly Grey. 

Maggie hadn’t wanted to come. She’d put it out her mind the minute Harry had shut the door behind him, but later that day, after kissing her youngest son goodnight and settling in front of the fire, the thought had come stomping back to her, aggressive and intrusive. It had been all she could think about for the last four days. She’d even walked up to the Shelby house twice before, but both times had backed away, almost running back home in fear.

Maggie didn’t know if it was a foolish decision to tell them what had happened, to willingly put her family in the open and seek mercy in the hands of the unmerciful. She hardly knew what to tell her sons, for fear they’d say something or go after their father, let alone what to say to the women across from her. To keep it a secret, to pray they’d never find out, was unreasonable. Polly Grey finds everything out, and the punishment from not telling would be worse than for. At least that’s what she told herself to help make her feel less guilty about betraying him.

She knew what she was about to do meant his death. It was without question, nothing she could say, or beg, would stop it. And that hurt more than she ever thought it could, but Maggie had to think of her boys- of what the Shelby’s would do to them. Her youngest was just a boy, barely thirteen, who still cried in her arms when things upset him. His life was worth so much more than his father’s. It was the choice she had to make, even if it made her feel sick. 

“Look, I don’t have all day. Will you explain to me what it is he’s done, or not?” Polly sighed, leaning back in her chair and striking a match to light her cigarette. 

“It’s about Eliza,” she said cautiously, still fidgeting with the string of her cardigan, “about why she was arrested.” 

Polly’s interested spiked, and she glanced up at Maggie through her eyelashes, a dark and curious expression on her face. Smoke curled out from her lips, and for a moment Maggie felt as if she was talking to the Devil. Or, at the very least, to God himself. 

“Go on.”

“My husband... he’s been spying on your family- for the police. He’s the one who. killed the Irish man, not Eliza, but he pinned the blame on her and fled.” 

There was silence. Polly’s jaw tightened and she leant forward, putting her cigarette out and staring straight into Maggie’s eyes. 

“Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes.” 

“Why?” She asked forcefully. “Why betray us? Why betray her?”

“I don’t know!” Maggie whispered, frightened “I think for the same reasons I’m here today- to protect our sons.”

“Arthur beat your eldest earlier in the year, didn’t he?” Polly straightened up, leaning back in her chair and pointing at Maggie. 

“Yes.” Maggie nodded, trying to control her emotions, “and Finn always picks on my youngest at school.” She blushed suddenly and looked away, “which is-I’m not supporting what he’s done.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you did,” Polly admitted, nodding. “So he killed Byrne, the man they say Eliza did.”

“Yes.” Maggie relaxed a bit, sitting up, “He told me he switched his gun with hers. And then I think he made some kind of agreement with the Inspector.”

“The Irish Inspector?” 

Maggie nodded and Polly cursed aloud. She rose and walked once around the kitchen, coming to stand beside Maggie, looking down at her. 

“You know what you need to do now.” She said solemnly, “I need to know where your husbands gone.” 

“I can’t be certain,” she trembled, trying to push away the guilt that rose within her, “but he has a brother in Manchester. He always goes to him when he needs help.” 

“The address, Maggie.” Polly prompted. 

“I just- I need to know I’m making the right choice.” Her eyes flicked up to Polly’s, and she swallowed nervously. “My boys must be safe.” 

Polly nodded once, curtly, and relief flowed through Maggie. It had all been worth it. 

“  10 Norwood Street, Old Trafford  .”

“Thank you, Maggie.” Polly’s hand rested on her shoulder, squeezing it. “It know it will be hard to tell your sons that their father is dead. For that I’m sorry, but for nothing else. He betrayed us, and that can’t be forgiven.”

“I know.” Maggie whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks.

**22 June 1919**

It was still dark. The sun had not risen and the warmth of the summer day not yet arrived. Tommy Shelby hid in the black shadows of the alley, and to anyone who glanced out their window, all that would give his position away to them was the orange glow of his cigarette. 

He watched the back of the house, eyes moving between the kitchen curtains and the bedroom upstairs. No one was awake yet, but that would soon change. When daylight broke, John and Eleanor Fenton would leave the house. Their daughter would leave for school half an hour later. Then Harry would be alone. 

Polly had called a family meeting four days ago, after Maggie’s visit. She’s explained to them all what she’d been told. It had taken a lot on her behalf to convince the boys to calm down. 

“The coppers might be watching him.” She’d told them sternly. “Don’t give them another fucking reason to keep her in there. Think it through.”

And so, reluctantly, Tommy had agreed to be careful. And he had certainly played the part of dutiful nephew, waiting in Manchester for three whole days, watching the house, learning their routine and surveying the area. 

But Polly hadn’t needed to worry. There were no coppers- there was no one. It was almost enough just to know that the Inspector had abandoned Fenton and hung him out to dry. Almost.

He still wanted him dead though. 

Fenton hadn’t left the house once in the days that Tommy had been watching, and the only reason he even knew Harry was in there was because he’d caught sight of him when the girl had left the house yesterday, and had forgotten to shut the door. He’d approached nervously, darting back and forth like a bee, slamming it shut and retreating into the house. Tommy had wanted to kill him then and there, but remembered Polly’s warning, and kept himself under control. 

Since France he hadn’t had an issue with control. As a boy, he’d been volatile and hot-headed, easy to piss off and even easier to get a reaction from. It had also been easier to make him laugh and smile and love- but that was beside the point.

Now, reborn in blood and fire on the frozen wastelands of France, he was a changed man. He was cool, calm and unmerciful. Like a stalking tiger he’d crept back into Small Heath with a need for control, but no way to expand further than his land. The guns had provided that way, and from the minute he’d seen the stolen shipment, a plan had clicked into place in his mind, and he saw himself ruling the whole bloody country in a year. 

Liza fucked that all up. 

He’d got her letters and knew she was coming home, but it still did nothing to change the gut-wrenching feeling inside him when he saw her for the first time. It was an indescribable emotion, what it felt to finally see her again- his Liza. The girl that never, ever failed to steal his breath, to make his heart beat faster and his judgement disappear. Suddenly, with her back in his life, Tommy didn’t feel very cool or calm and was, for a moment, his younger self again. Free-spirited and more than willing to love and be loved. His plan fell to pieces before him, as he looked across the kitchen at her. 

Power and control melted away, replaced by a series of images that passed through his mind. Marrying her, having children and grandchildren, growing old down Watery Lane and being perfectly content for the rest of their lives because they had each other and that’s all they ever needed. It didn’t feel like anything mattered in those few heartbeats, because he had her again. He thought of all the things he should say to her, that he should have in those letters, about how she was all he could ever think about and that the thought of her was what kept him alive. Or even what he should have said all those years ago, on that platform in 1914:

That he’d loved her- had since he was 22- and still did seven, fucking years later. 

But then he remembered real life, and how none of that could ever happen, because it had been four years since they’d last seen each other, and in those four years everything had changed. He wasn’t who he used to be, the kind of person that could be happy with a simple life. Now, he wanted more, needed more, and there was no place in his life for a wife or kids. 

And even if he was weak enough to let it all happen, Liza would never go for it, not any more. She might think she knew who he was, but she had no fucking idea. No one did. Tommy had been to hell and had come back alive, with the devil in his heart. 

He had left her letters unanswered for four years and then hadn’t even bothered to meet her when she arrived home. And even once she was back, he’d fought with her, insulted her, and handed her over to Kimber like she meant nothing to him. It was no use pretending what he’d done was anything other than what it seemed. Kimber wanted an hour alone with her in exchange for a signed deal, and in that moment Tommy had felt it was worth it. He was fairly confident he’d figure out a way to stop Kimber before it went too far, but the man he’d become was more than willing to risk that not happening. He had been prepared to let him hurt her. 

Tommy knew if he let her into his heart even for a moment, she’d be repulsed by what she saw. 

However, none of that changed Tommy being here. None of it changed him waiting until the girl had gone, before slipping into the house through the backdoor, using a key hidden in an alcove that he’d seen them use. None of it change him edging silently up the stairs, the click of his gun, the wide-eyed, terror-filled look that Harry gave him as he opened the door and pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead. 

None of it stopped the blood that splattered thick across his face when he pulled the trigger. 

He admitted to himself, as he ran quickly out of the house before the neighbours came knocking, that killing Harry hadn’t really changed anything. His heart still ached for her. His mind still screamed for vengeance, for retribution, for anyone and anything to pay for them taking her away. 

Tommy slowed down, wiping the blood from his face and giving himself a minute to catch his breath. He didn’t like weakness- even before France weakness had meant death, but it meant it now more than ever.

And fucking hell, was love a weakness. 

**23 June 1919**

“Please, sit Miss Scott,” Campbell gestured to the bed, “I think you’ll find what I have to say fascinating.”

Eliza sat reluctantly on the bed, looking up at the Inspector, who towered over her. He tossed the file he held at her, the thick paper hitting her arm. Every day since Campbell had first seen her over a week ago, he’d come into Eliza’s cell and handed over her file, with threat after threat, from spending the rest of her life in prison to execution by firing squad. Quite frankly, she was half-tempted just to accept him, if it meant a change to her current mind-numbing days. 

“I’ve read through it a hundred times, Inspector.” Eliza sighed, not even bothering to pick the file up this time. “I get it: if I refuse, you’ll take me to trial. The issue though, is that I’m not afraid of that happening. I’m innocent and any half-decent lawyer will be able to prove that. Owning a gun that uses the same bullets that were found in Mr Byrne is not enough to say I am guilty. And these witnesses that you’ve bribed and threatened-“ she laughed aloud, “if they were able to be persuaded by you, I’m sure they’ll have no problem being persuaded by the Peaky Blinders.”

He had no reaction for her. No shouting or threatening, but rather he just smiled his cold smile and nodded, which was enough to unnerve her slightly. 

“Why don’t you give this file a look through,” he suggested kindly, gesturing towards the cream papers, “I promise it’ll be so much more interesting today.” 

Eliza hesitated, but the nervous feeling that was growing in her chest won her over, and she picked it up. Opening the file, she was greeted with a hazy photo of what could only be Tommy. 

“What is this?” She demanded, looking up at the Inspector.

“That, Miss Scott, is our new deal. You’ve made it clear that a threat on your own life is not enough to make you break, so now I am threatening someone else’s life.” 

He picked up the small stool that was in the corner of her room and brought it over, settling down opposite her. 

“You were right- your file would never be enough to condemn you, not to death at any rate. Witnesses can be bribed again and judges aren’t fond of circumstantial evidence.” He gestured into the air as if to put all that to one side, “photographic evidence though? Oh, now that’s quite different, isn’t it?”   
He tapped his finger on the picture of Tommy, which must have been taken from a window- his figure slightly blurry as he walked out a house she didn’t recognise. Still, it was undoubtedly him, because the angle had managed to capture his face perfectly. 

“That is a photograph taken by an undercover operative I had placed in Manchester. This operative watched as Thomas Shelby waited by this house for three days, before entering and killing its occupant. He took this photograph as he left. Would you like to know who the occupant was, Miss Scott?”   
Eliza already knew. She’d read the front page as he’d spoken, and in big letters was the name Harry Fenton. 

“Why?” she asked hoarsely, mouth dry, “why kill Harry?” 

“I believe it was because of you.” Campbell replied, leaning back in his seat and smiling at the pained look on her face. “Mr Fenton was working for me, you see Miss Scott. For months now he’s been spying and watching you and your people. A month ago- not by my orders I must add- whilst attempting to get information from him, Fenton killed an Irishman that he’d seen with Mr Shelby at The Garrison. Can you guess who that Irishman was?” 

Campbell was enjoying this. Eliza tried to keep her face still, but it was hard with the things she was being told. She didn’t want to believe Fenton could be a spy. He’d known her since she was a girl, they’d worked together for years. In many ways he was a father figure to her- and now he had framed her for murder. 

“Byrne.” She whispered. “He’s the one who killed him. And the gun.. Jesus- he framed me!” 

Tears stung her eyes, and she took a sharp breath to keep herself under control. 

“You are good at this.” The Inspector rose, standing above her again. “I‘ll leave you with that file, Miss Scott and I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. I won’t trouble you for a while, to let you think, but before I leave, please look at the last piece of paper.”

Eliza picked the sheet out from underneath the pile, but didn’t really need to- she knew what it was.

“If you still don’t accept my deal by the end of the month, Miss Scott, I will let you go. But I will also execute that arrest warrant for Mr Shelby, and with evidence like that, even the half-decent lawyer you claim you’ll get won’t be able to defend him. Refuse me, and your Thomas will die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quick psa: it highly doubt you care much, but its been bugging me for months that i ever thought it was realistic that i could make ada six months pregnant. its been on my mind and i finally bothered to change it, so i wanted to let you know i now have her as three months pregnant in the chapter when its all revealed. i doesn't change the story (just my timeline for future content but oh well) but just so you all know its been altered and i do have some knowledge of basic biology (or at least i do now lmao). anyway- hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> e x
> 
> (26/01/2021)


	21. Chapter 20

** 24 June 1919 **

“Inspector.”

Campbell stepped out from the car to Tommy’s greeting, his lip curled in distaste. He had not wanted to attend this meeting and the unfavourable conditions of the night only made his mood worse. The harsh, cold rain of Small Heath was beating down on him and it was late enough at night that the city was now empty, a darkness covering the streets to be interrupted only by the dim glow of a few streetlights. It felt like he had entered a ghost town, and every minute more that he spent standing here reminded him of his hatred for this city and its inhabitants.

“Mr Shelby,” he replied curtly, “you message said you have an address for me?”

“Anonymous tip-off. Stanley Chapman.” Tommy held up the paper which bore Chapman’s address for the Inspector to see.

“You promised me Freddie Thorne.” He sighed irritably.

“This is instead of Freddie Thorne.”

“No deal.” Campbell dismissed, turning to walk away.

“Inspector, Stanley Chapman is a bigger fish than Freddie Thorne.” Those words were enough to make the Inspector pause and turn back around, “he is currently holding 200 pounds in cash, given to the communist party by the Russian government.”

Interest gained, Tommy watched as the Inspector walked over slowly, glaring in trepidation with a dark and suspicious look in his eyes. There was nothing Tommy wanted to do more than to cut those eyes from his face.

“And what is it you want in return for this information?”

The Inspector held out his hand and Tommy went to place the piece of paper in it, pausing just before the Inspector could get a hold. They stared at each other down in silence, and Tommy realised it was in that moment he finally understood what kind of man Campbell really was.

He was not a good man or a fair man. He was selfish, arrogant and full of uncontrollable rage. The Inspector was a seething, burning monster bent of delivering justice, regardless of what had to happen, or wether it was really justice at all. He was ruthless, and yet somehow still a coward that hid behind others. But there was a part of the Inspector that managed scared Tommy, because he knew that it was weakness that had created him. Weakness to submit to the easiest desires- to anger and spite- and that made dangerous, because there was no strength in him to do the right thing.

And if Tommy wasn’t careful, he might just end up exactly like him.

“I need two things from you Inspector, and your word on both,” Tommy looked him dead in the eye as began, “you will let Freddie Thorne and my sister leave the city, and you-“

“-Let me guess,” he interrupted, smiling viciously, “you want Elizabeth Scott to be set free from prison?”

“That’s all I ask. And in exchange you might even get your medal.”

“You have my word on your sister, Mr Shelby, but Miss Scott is under investigation for criminal activity. To release her would go against my duty to the Crown.”

Campbell drew a chair out from behind him and sat down in it, clasping his hands and laughing as he looked up. Tommy’s jaw clenched and his hand itched to take hold of the gun resting in his holster.

“I thought your duty to the Crown would be finding real criminals, like Stanley Chapman,” Tommy bargained, waving the paper in his hand, “not locking up innocent people.”

“My duty is to do what I am told. And currently, Mr Churchill is telling me I need those guns back, or I will be replaced.” The Inspector said as he leant back in his chair, “would you like to know what will happen if I don’t get the guns back, Mr Shelby?”

Tommy was watching the Inspector carefully, anger building steadily inside of him. He wanted nothing more than to shoot the smug smile from his face, but had to listen instead to the unhinged words that he began to speak.

“First, I will have Elizabeth dragged from her cell and hanged till she turns blue. Then I will hunt down every member of your family and see that their heads are beaten in with spades and mallets, your aunt and sister included- the baby inside her is of no consequence to me. I will throw them all in unmarked graves, on the side of a road that you will never find. Only you and your little brother Finn will be spared. You, Thomas, so that you can watch helpless as those that you love will pay the price for your sin, and your brother so that he can be tried as an adult and placed into the part of prison where men have an appetite for boys like him. It will be a dark day when I do not get those guns back, but make no mistake: a pleasing one.”

The Inspector snatched the paper from his grasp, and in one swift movement Tommy had his gun pointed at the Inspector’s head. His finger balanced on the trigger, the taste of death on his tongue. He savoured that feeling, sweet and satisfying, as he held Campbell’s life in his blood-soaked grasp.

“You won’t shoot,” was the Inspector’s only response, “you need me alive.”

“You have no value to me, Inspector.”

He simply chuckled, smiling and walking away. Both Tommy’s gun and his eyes remained focused on his fading figure, swearing to himself as he disappeared into the hazy night that one day the trigger would be pulled, and Campbell will be dead.

** 26 June 1919 **

The sun rose, as it always did, through the small square in her cell. It’s coming marked her fourteenth day in prison. The time was beginning to take its toll.

For the past few days Elizabeth had barely even bothered to rise from her bed when the sun came, choosing instead to pass the time in a half-awake, half-asleep trance, thinking about everything and nothing.

To put it plainly- she was bored.

Now, if and when the Inspector entered her cell, she hardly bothered to acknowledge him. He’d come for the same reasons: to list off another endless chant of threats, to remind her how long until the end of the month, to insult or belittle or even sometimes flatter her. He’d tried everything, and yet she had not budged.

But Eliza was beginning to question her stubbornness. Whilst it was enjoyable at first, to remain adamant on her loyalty, it really didn’t prove much anymore. And as her execution date felt now like it was looming in the not-so-distant distance, Elizabeth was considering just accepting the Inspector’s deal and finally being free of this mind-numbing prison. It wasn’t like she couldn’t tell Tommy about it once she was out- by agreeing to spy for Campbell it might even allow for false information to be passed to him as a way to divert his attention, or to waste his time.

Elizabeth sighed aloud, her chest heaving as every breath within her escaped. _God was she bored._ The only thing that was stopping her from accepting the deal at this point was her pride, and it was proving a difficult thing to get over. She could visualise the look on the Inspector’s face if she agreed to the plan, gloating and disgustingly self-confident. It made her grit her teeth in frustration just thinking about it. There really was something about that man that made it _so easy_ to hate him.

The sun had fully risen now, bathing her face in a warm glow. It was what she liked most about her days, this moment, in the quiet, as the sun caressed her cheeks with its soft rays. Before long it would be too high reach her anymore, but she enjoyed the few minutes none the less. For some strange reason, the sun today made her think of her brother.

Eliza didn’t think about George often. His memory was still too painful, and she felt a kind of disconnect from him. Leaving so abruptly after his death and running away to France, where she had so little time to think about anything but what was happening in the moment, had meant she’d failed to grieve for him as she had her parents. It had been a terrible, unexpected blow to loose him so soon after she had finally gained him back. In the last years of his life George had edged away from crime and more towards the brother she remembered from her childhood. She’d finally got a loving brother back, and then lost him all over again.

He had always been closer to their mother than their father and after loosing her, the streets of Small Heath had treated him colder than they should have. He’d hardened, falling easily into a life of crime that no one would say anything about, at least not those he listened too. Before the war George and Arthur had been the driving force behind the Peaky Blinders. Back before any of Tommy’s plans for expansion, when he’d been a young man uninterested in anything besides his family, horses and (only when required) occasional petty crime, it was George and Arthur’s brute force that had built their legacy and power up from the ground.

Eliza was inclined to say she’d hated every minute of it but lying in her cell, where there was no reason to lie to herself, and nothing to do but face the truth, she couldn’t bring herself to think that. Truthfully, she enjoyed it all. From the money they made off this life of crime, to the way she had been almost untouchable in her youth- as the sister of George Scott, and as a Peaky girl, any boy whose attention she gained was watched closely- it could be so pulse-racing at times. Even lying here, stuck in prison, made her feel important. And she liked to feel important. Whether it was the constant need for her father or Polly’s attention, the way people would look at her as she walked down the street, or the knowledge that there was always a boy falling a little bit in love with her (as it happened, just like male gang members attracted swarms of attention, so did the women- paired with being untouchable, she and Ada had had a lot of fun growing up), it all boiled down to a desire to be on the fore-front of people’s minds.

This worked out well in some ways. It meant she stood up for herself and spoke her mind, but more often than not it more of a detriment than anything else. It left Eliza as being tiresome or irritating on a good day, narcissistic on a bad one.

Eliza knew why she was thinking about these things. And it wasn’t really as an excuse for her pride, or an attempt to put reason behind involvement with a gang, but rather because lying here in this cell made her feel more connected to George than she had since he’d died, and if there was anyone she shared this trait with, it was her brother.

Half a year before their father’s death, in the summer of 1912, George had been caught by the coppers in the middle of an armed robbery. He was locked up for five months, and forced to pay a healthy fine, but really they were all grateful for that, because if it hadn’t been for a spot of bribery and threat towards the coroner to reevaluate why exactly the shopkeeper had died, it would have been very likely that George had ended up in a noose instead.

She imagined him lying in her place, and what it must have been like to spend five months savouring the brief moment when the sun warms your face, instead of just the two weeks she’d had to deal with it. She missed him painfully in that moment, wondered what he’d be doing now, what he’d feel and think about her locked up, what he’d do if he was her. Would he take the deal, or would he let his pride rule over him, satisfied with knowledge that though he may be trapped in a cell, all those on the outside must be thinking of him every day.

George had been out from prison barely a fortnight before their father died. A heart attack- the doctor had said- problems he’d been having for years (though he’d never told the either of them about it) and a natural and unstoppable death. Yet her brother has convinced himself it was brought on by the stress he’d caused his father all his life, and endeavoured to change his act. He stopped drinking on week days, tried to patch up his relationship with Eliza and involved himself only with the bookkeeping, wanting no part any more with the fighting and beatings. He even had a girl he promised to marry once he came back from France. Eliza thought briefly about her, her kind smile, pretty laugh and even prettier face, wondering where she was now.

Her brother had become a better person. Not a good person- none of them were good people- but decent in his own right. And Eliza new if he was here now he’d tell her to get over herself. To bite her cheek and hold her tongue and let the Inspector lord over her all he liked, but just to get herself out of this cell, because sometimes life isn’t all about yourself, but rather about those around you, and how you can help and love them.

When she’d asked him about his time in prison, George had told her the worst part about it was that his stubbornness to not take advice from his father, was what put him in there. And that meant he’d wasted the last moments of their fathers’s life locked in prison instead of with him.

Eliza knew then that the next time she saw the Inspector, she’d accept his deal, and be free from here for good.

** 27 June 1919 **

“I do not understand you sometimes Tommy!” Polly seethed, one hand on her hip whilst the other gestured aggressively towards her nephew.

“And I don’t understand you either Poll.” He replied, leant against his desk with crossed arms, assuming a defensive position against her attack. “I gave the Inspector the address, just like you told me, so why are we doing this?”

“Doing what? Talking?”

“You call this talking?” He gestured loosely towards his aunt, eyebrows raised, “you’re starting a fight- just call it what it is.”

“Oh, a fight is what you want? How about this Tommy-” Polly’s tone grew sickly sweet as she lathered on the sarcasm, “it’s been two weeks since she was arrested and they still have Eliza inside that fucking prison, they still won’t let me in to see her and now you tell me he’s threatening to hang her!”

“He also threatened to smash Ada’s skull in with a spade and lift Finn as a kid but apparently you don’t fucking care about them Polly- all you seem to fucking care about is her!” Tommy snapped, pushing himself up and shouting at his aunt, voice hoarse with anger.

“And you don’t seem to care about her at all!” Polly yelled back.

“You think I don’t fucking care? I’m trying to deal with this mess, Polly, but I am also trying to do it without pissing off a copper who is more than willing to kill us all!”

“You wouldn’t be in this mess if you had just listened to me and dumped those guns. What have they done but brought more trouble? All for your own selfish gain.”

“So I’m selfish now?” He challenged her, taking a step closer and letting his frustration get the better of him as his voice rose yet again, “what else, Poll? Come on, don’t stop. Let me know what-fucking-else that I’m doing is wrong, what you don’t like about me pulling this family from the shit-filled streets we live and die in, and trying to actually make something of our lives!”

They were practically spitting at each other as they screamed, veins straining and eyes widening in wild anger. It was never simple between the two of them, never enough to air grievances civilly, but lately their fights had become far too frequent, and far too aggressive for what was typically deemed normal. Tensions were high in the Shelby household and emotions and loyalty were being pulled dangerously close to breaking point.

It had been like this ever since the boys had come back, something between them and the rest of the family forever altered, but Eliza’s arrival had somehow managed to make it worse. Polly was struggling to put her finger on it. It made no sense to her that she could cause such animosity, the girl was family, and cared for deeply by all. She was in many ways like Ada, with a conscience and sweet smile too good to fit this lifestyle, but a love, or addiction, for the excitement and danger (and dangerous men) that kept them from ever straying far. But maybe it was their likeness that was the key to this new dawn of animosity.

Perhaps it was them who were inspiring this drawn-out fight. Polly and Tommy loved them both deeply, yet had such conflicting ideas on how best to present that love. Tommy wanted Ada under his watchful eye and furious command, the things that keep the rest of the family never straying far from Small Heath. However, Polly was confident that if they ever wanted to call Ada their’s again, they had to let her fly free first.

The explanation for their conflict over Eliza perhaps lay best in her letters. Tommy had ignored them, and yet the girl had kept writing. He would likely refute it, but Polly knew he loved her with all his soul, and for this reason he wanted her far away. Kept from him, from this city and from where- if he lost her- the fault would be his. But she would never leave, and certainly not without a fight. The letter had been her fight, as was coming home- a reminder to him that she could always be a constant in his life if he desired.

_A friend, a love, of even a heartache if need be_ , she thought sadly.

Polly understood persistence keenly, it was the only way she ever got through to her nephew. But she feared it might also be the spark that could light a suffocating fire- one that consumes them all. Whilst persistence might be their only way into each other, it’s just as likely to be what pushes them away.

Polly grew quiet and cool as she thought, staring Tommy and inspecting his face with practiced perfection. She spoke her next words carefully and slowly, so that he didn’t miss them.

“What is it you mean, by making our lives better Tommy? Bullying your brothers into submission? Arranging John’s marriage-“ she put a finger up to stop him, “- don’t insult me by trying to deny it, I know everything.” She continued icily, “or maybe you mean pushing your sister away until she can hardly bear the sight of any of us? Or what about treating Eliza like a whore at Cheltenham and then letting her be used as a pawn for your little game? What is it you like best from there Tommy?”

“And what about you, ey Polly? Playing your own games with Freddie, giving him money whilst getting secrets from our Ada? Is that your attempt at helping her, by messing with her life?”

Polly kissed her teeth at him and shoved his chest with her fingers.

“When you can come up with a half-decent response to me Tommy, then I’ll listen. Until then try not to get any of the rest of us arrested,” she walked across his office and yanked open the door, looking back, “though don’t bother for yourself, some time to sit and think might be just what you need.”

“Everything I do is for this fucking family Poll! Try to remember that!” He shouted at her as she slammed the door shut, the windows shaking in their frames.

Yet again, his last words had fallen on deaf ears.

* * *

(20/02/2021)


	22. Chapter 21

**31 st Dec.  
** **1914  
** **Epping, England**

_Tommy,_

_You’ve probably heard from Polly by now about George. It’s been nearly two weeks since we found out after all. She’s probably also told you about me._

_The decision was an easy one. Maybe that’s what hurt her most of all, but it’s the truth. I’ve considered doing this since the war started, but with nothing left for me in Small Heath I feel I might as well. That’s not true. I have a lot back there. Polly and Ada and Finn, but please understand that none of it feels the same any more. I’m almost not too sure I’d like to live._

_I’m sure you remember after your Mum died, how you told me you might go away for a bit. I think you wanted to go to Ireland, to try and find some of her family. You didn’t in the end because of your siblings. But my brother is dead now. And I need to find a way to deal with that, and I won’t find it at home._

_I’m in Epping to train, and once that’s done they’ll send me where they need me. It might only be back to London, but I hope it will be France. They don’t send many VADs out there but a girl in my room says that’s changing. The war is worse than they thought it would, she says, and they need as many of us out there as possible. I knew that already._

_I stayed for the funeral which was Polly’s only request. None of you should be concerned that you missed it though, we didn’t even have him too bury. It’s just an empty plot that Polly spent too much money on. My brother is lying somewhere in France, alone and without anyone that loves him. I think that might be why I’m going. I can find him and maybe I can keep him company. If that’s what happens, than so be it._

_If I don’t come back, or you don’t come back or somehow things manage to get worse than they already are, known that I love you. I promised George I would write once a week, and I can’t even think to stop doing that, so I’m going to write to you instead. I know you haven’t replied to any of my letters yet, but at the moment I don’t really care. Maybe you haven’t got them, maybe I haven’t got your letters, but I won’t make up a reason for the sake of it._

_If you don’t want to write that’s alright Tommy. I’d really like it if you did, at least to know what happened on the train station wasn’t just in my imagination, but it’s alright if you don’t. I hope my letters will be interesting and that France gives me lots to say. I hope you read what I say._

_That’s it for now. It is too difficult to go on and I don’t want to write for the sake of it. If my decision has hurt you, or hurt anyone, then I am sorry. But I don’t regret it._

_Until I see you again,  
_ _Ever yours,  
_ _Liza_

* * *

(20/02/2021)


	23. Chapter 22

** 1 July 1919 **

The cell door opened with a bang. Eliza jumped, startled by the sudden intrusion and looked up to see the Inspector. He slung a folder at her with a snarl and slammed the door shut behind him. He was clearly irritated.

“I don’t need to read the file-“

“Read the file!” He turned on her, yelling loud enough that a vein on his temple began to pulse dangerously, “Read it!”

She picked it up slowly and opened it. It was the same as it always was. The photograph of Tommy leaving the house in Manchester, the case against him, the desired punishment. She sighed.

“Inspector I-“

“Did you not hear me?”

“Inspector I agree to your deal!” She shouted, raising her voice so she could be heard over him.

A look of confusion passed momentarily across his face, clearly not expecting this from her. It was gone as soon as it had arrived, however, replaced with the gloating look she new she’d have to face. Eliza was already regretting her decision.

“You agree?”

“Yes,” she muttered irritably, “I was ready to tell you days ago, actually, but you haven’t come to see me in a week.”

“I’ve been dealing with things,” he replied with a smile, pointing at the folder, “look through it properly, there’s something that should interest you.”

“I get it!” She snapped, “I’ve looked through it enough times to know it off by heart. I’ve agreed to spy for you, is that not fucking enough? I’m sick of this!”

He sighed in frustration, walking up to her and leafing through the file himself. Half way through he stopped, shoving it back into her grip and tapping on a photo.

“This is Stanley Chapman. His address was given to us by Mr Shelby and we took him in for questioning. Unfortunately, before we could get any information from the man, someone found his way into Chapman’s holding cell and killed him. It’s believed to be Mr Shelby. At least-“ he paused and crossed his arms, looking Eliza up and down, “-that’s the story I gave to my fellow officers. Mr Shelby’s arrest warrant now consists of two murders. It was meant to help compel you to agree, but you came to that decision by yourself it seems. Now, I hope, it will compel you to remain silent.”

Eliza couldn’t wait to leave this behind her. Just as he had done with her, Campbell had again placed the blame of a murder on someone who he knew was innocent- of that crime at least. It made no difference now, of which he was aware, but he still seemed intent on making the most of it. He was a lying, murderous villain, and she was looking forward to the day he would pay for his own crimes.

“You don’t need to worry about my silence, Inspector. I know what will happen if I tell someone.”

“Still, allow me to explain Miss Scott,” he threatened, leaning in close. “I will know if you tell anyone, believe me. And if you do, I won’t bother with a trial, or playing fair, Instead I’ll just drag you and Thomas and every other Shelby back into these cells, where I will question you as sharply as I questioned Stanley Chapman. You will be pleading for mercy when I am done, and yet no one will save you- no one will even hear you. And after I am finished you will all meet exactly the same fate as he did, hanging lifeless from a ceiling. Do I make myself clear?”

“Of course, Inspector.” Eliza replied, smiling back at him.

* * *

Watery Lane had never looked more heavenly then when Eliza walked down it today. The afternoon sun was hidden behind clouds, but the weather was still pleasant, and she couldn’t help but close her eyes briefly and breathe in the air. It was thick with smoke and made up of a mixture of foul smells, as it always was, but still so preferable to the stale stench of her cell. It felt sweet to be free.

She hadn’t come straight to Watery Lane, however. The first thing she’d done upon release was go back to her flat. They’d given her back her bag, which they’d taken from her- the one with the gun- and so luckily she was able to let herself in. More even than seeing the Shelby’s, what she wanted was a hot bath. Two weeks of wearing the same clothes, eating the same awful food and being forced to use a chamber pot had made her feel more like an animal than a person at times.

She needed to clean, change, and try to brush her wild hair before she could even think about presenting herself to any decent person. Whilst turning up looking like she’d crawled through a forest for two weeks might make for a dramatic entrance, it would likely leave an unfavourable memory- and a pungent once. Eliza had made good work of herself, and felt much better once she’d scrubbed clean and put on something fresh, more like herself.

Eliza opened her eyes to sound of loud voices coming from the betting shop. She crossed the street and pushed through the excited crowd that was emerging from the doors and making their way to the Garrison.

“All drinks on the Peaky fuckin-” Arthur froze as he came out the door, the smile falling from his face and then breaking out into an even larger grin, all in one clean motion.

She’d pushed herself through two particularly boisterous men to come face to face with Arthur as he was emerging from the shop. He began to laugh once he saw her, striding to meet Eliza and lifting her up in an engulfing hug. Once he let her back down again, he swung his arm across her shoulder and led her back into the shop, where the rest of the family were chatting lively as they prepared to leave.

“Look who’s back!” Arthur cheered, drawing their attention.

Eliza would have liked to explain their reactions as purely excitement over seeing her returned, but it was obvious something had already elated their moods, and caused the liveliness she’d witnessed outside the betting shop. Polly cried out in excitement, clasping her hands as she ran over to Eliza and then pulling her into a hug.

“How did you get out?” She exclaimed, releasing the girl and cupping her face in her hands. “Oh never mind now, let’s go celebrate!”

Polly shook her hands as she brushed of her own question, moving out the way to open the door and walk into the street. Eliza received a hug from John and Finn as they both followed their aunt out onto the street, and Arthur squeezed her shoulder before trailing after them, cheering loudly.

“We’re the Peaky-fucking-Blinders!” She could hear him shouting, turning back around to look at the only person left in the building.

Tommy and Eliza smiled at each other. He approached rather gingerly, but pulled her in for a tight hug once he got near enough.

“It’s good to see you.” He spoke softly into her ear.

“And you.” She responded as he pulled away.

Tommy gestured for her to leave the shop first, so she stepped back out into the street, waiting as he locked the door behind them. They walked side by side down the street, both smiling at the sight in front of them. Shelbys and Blinders alike were filtering into the Garrison, shouting, laughing and pushing each other around, all drunk off high spirits.

“What’s the celebration for?” Eliza asked as she accepted Tommy’s offer of a cigarette, before adding jokingly, “besides me of course.”

“Billy Kimber came by today,” Tommy lit her cigarette and she took a moment to breath in her first mouthful of tobacco in weeks. It felt good. “He delivered us our first ever legal betting license.”

She turned her head sharply to look at him, gasping quietly and grinning. She didn’t need to check he was telling the truth, Tommy’s response of a genuine look of happiness, and a warm smile to match, was enough to confirm it. 

“Our first ever legal betting license,” Eliza repeated the words, testing them on her tongue, “that sounds right.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“And it certainly calls for a celebration.”

“As does your return.”

Tommy tilted his head towards her in acknowledgment, his hand resting on the small of her back as he opened the Garrison door and guided her in.

* * *

Eliza collapsed heavily onto a chair in her flat, drawing one of her feet towards her in an attempt to wrestle of her shoe. It took longer than it should have, but thankfully she had the gin to blame for that.

Arthur had tasked himself with getting her home, the two of them too drunk to even walk straight, arm in arm for support. Eliza had thanked him before hauling herself up the stairs, into her flat and then finally into the chair she was currently seeking refugee in. The night had definitely been a celebration, and one to rival any that came before. There was singing and dancing and far too much alcohol involved, though mostly because it was Arthur who’d claimed the spot behind the bar. She’d always had a talent for taking her liquor well, but no one could match the Shelbys, and one drinking game with John had been enough to confine her to a chair for the rest of the evening. She wouldn’t complain though, Finn had kept her company and the boy was as joyful as anyone else.

It had been strange at first, to enter the pub and think about Harry. She wasn’t sure how to deal with that side of her arrest, and was thankful when Polly had insisted she’d be helping her manage the books from now on, and wouldn’t have to put a foot back inside the pub if she didn’t want to. With a final push, Eliza had both shoes off, and sunk down in her chair with a huff. She dropped her head into her hands and tried desperately to escape the thoughts of Harry’s betrayal that had crept into her mind. A knock at the door saved her.

Using the table to pull herself up, Eliza got up and walked over to the door, unlocking it and opening it. It was Tommy standing in front of her.

“Hello?” She queried, confused. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled back, scratching his head. “Drunk.”

She hummed in agreement and stood to the side to let him in. She hadn’t really meant to, and maybe it was the alcohol, but allowing Tommy inside felt right in that moment. He looked around as he walked in, placing his balled-up hat on the table and turning back to face her.

“This might help?” Eliza said lightly, holding up the bottle of rum on her counter with a grin. “It can’t hurt at least, right?”

“Why not.” Tommy agreed, letting her pour out two glasses and hand him one.

The drank in silence, making eye contact every now and then, but mostly just existing in each other’s company. Eliza sat back down into her chair, watching as he surveyed the room around her, giving him a small smile when their gaze met. It didn’t take long for them to finish the rum, the earlier drinking allowing it to go down easy, and she felt compelled to be the first one to break the silence.

“Why are you here Tommy? Do you need something?”

“I-” for once he seemed lost for words, clearing his throat as he tried to speak, “I wanted to tell you that- fuck!”

He exclaimed loudly, enough to make Eliza startle slightly, before he slumped down in a chair opposite her and ran a hand over his face. She wasn’t very sure on how to react, it wasn’t exactly often that Tommy Shelby allowed his emotions to get the better of him like this. She put it down to the drink- a lot was being put down to the drink.

“I shouldn’t have drunk so fucking much,” he cursed, looking at her in appeal.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking Tommy, I can’t help you.” She lent forward, resting her elbows on the table and speaking softly. “I can’t read your mind.”

“I wish you fucking could tonight.” He murmured.

“Just tell me.”

He stared at her, his blue eyes piercing hers, and he nodded once. At her words he seemed to have made a decision, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. Eliza wished she could have been more prepared for what he said next.

* * *

(20/02/2021)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few chapters to make up for how long it's been, and one on the way either tomorrow or the day after, so that i don't leave you on a cliff-hanger for too long. i've realised that i'm really incapable of finding a healthy balance between lots of text and lots of speech- its literally only ever one or the other and for that i'm sorry. At some point i'm going to rewrite/edit all of this story because i'm not very happy with a lot of it any more, and i'll try to address that issue then, but i think i'll leave it for now, at least until i manage to finish this thing. anyway, i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> e x


	24. Chapter 23

...

“Just tell me.”

He stared at her, his blue eyes piercing her’s, and he nodded once. At her words he seemed to have made a decision, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. Eliza wished she could have been more prepared for what he said next.

“I’m not one for small talk, so I’m going to make this quick. Not a moment goes back in my entire, fucking day that I don’t think about you. And I hate it, but I’m never going to be able to stop it, so I might as well give in.”

“I wonder why you’re not good at small talk.” She teased lightly, though Eliza’s smile dropped when Tommy rose abruptly.

He stood up so quickly that his chair almost toppled over behind him, moving around the table in a few strides to stand beside her, staring down with a look in his eyes that she’d never seen before. His thumb ran across her bottom lip, fingers gently touching her jaw before applying enough pressure so that she had to rise up, standing before him. She was breathless.

His fingers moved from her jaw, running up the side of her cheek until his hand was gripping her face. He pulled her close, gaze focused on her mouth. Eliza’s eyes fluttered shut as Tommy pressed his lips against her’s. He was gentle and soft, but commanding enough that she never considered pulling away. The kiss was loving though it tasted strongly of rum, as if love and lust had collided mid-dance, joining together in fury. One of her hands rested comfortably against his chest, whilst the other rose to brush hesitantly against his jaw and she found herself sinking into his embrace like these were her last moments on earth.

Tommy pulled away, but hardly enough to separate them, their noses almost brushing. He didn’t smile, but the blue of his eyes seemed brighter than ever before, sparkling with something beautiful. He moved a bit of her hair that had come loose, smoothing it away from her forehead, before moving his hand down to again run a calloused thumb over her lips.

“I love you.” He whispered hoarsely.

She didn’t know what to do. There was only silence.

Eliza’s eyes then began to widened slightly in alarm, and she stepped back from his touch, sinking down into her chair. She pressed her cool fingers against her flushed cheeks, looking up at where he remained stoic in front of her, their eyes locking.

“I think I’m too drunk for this as well, Tommy,” she managed to utter in response. “You’re drunk. I’m drunk. We should- you don’t know what you’re doing, I-”

“-No,” he cut in, crouching down in front of her and pressing a hand into her knee, “don’t.”

Her mouth opened and closed, completely stuck on what to do. Eliza was hardly even in the present, her mind still focused on the kiss.

_Fuck,_ she thought, _he’s actually kissed me_. 

Then why did she feel so terrible, why was she filled with dread? Isn’t this what she wanted?

“I agreed to spy on you for the Inspector.” She blurted out suddenly, in a failed attempt to find something appropriate to say. “He has a warrant for your arrest, and the only way you and I wouldn’t hang is if I agreed to spy on you for him- to get him information and find out where the guns are.”

“Ok.” Tommy replied simply, eyebrows furrowed, “Liza this isn’t-”

“You need to let me tell him,” she was speaking over Tommy, trying not to let the conversation drift back to what they should be talking about, “these guns do no one any good and the best thing you can do is hand them back!”

“What are you talking about? Can this not wait?”

“Well, I think it’s important.” Her voice was growing more heated, more desperate, and the nature of their conversation was beginning to sway into dangerous territory. “The Inspector can’t-”

“Can you just fucking address what happened?” Tommy spoke seriously, forceful enough to end her diversion. “Please?” -he added as a more gentle afterthought.

Eliza let out a shaky laugh and shook her head, both amused and utterly lost. How could she even begin to express what she was feeling?

“Tommy I- I love you too, you know that-”

“Then lets just put all this shit behind us and start new,” he begged eagerly, his hand moving further up her leg, the grip tightening, “we can move past everything- move on- actually try to be something. I want us to be something Liza.”

That made her racing thoughts pause, and she took a moment to assess his words. She had been prepared for an honest and well-overdue conversation, even if it had to be painful- but to ignore everything that had happened wasn’t something she was ready to do. It felt too much like a convenient escape, and one likely to leave them back where they started.

“Are you serious?” She questioned with unease, “you think that’s a good idea, to just put everything behind us? How could it ever be that simple?”

“Why can’t it be? Let us just forget it all.”

“Fuck Tommy!” She exclaimed all of a sudden, pushing his hand from her leg and standing up.

Eliza turned away from him, walking aimlessly across the room and running a hand down her face. Behind her Tommy rose, at once tense and on edge. She whipped around without warning, facing him with exasperation written all over her face.

“You want to control everything, don’t you?” She cried, arms falling lifelessly to her side. “You want me to forget so that its easier for you, so that you don’t have to face what you’ve done. I’m sure it would be easy, Tommy, living naivety always is- but eventually it just explodes in your fucking face and that will not be me- I will not be controlled by you! And don’t be stupid enough to think we can just put this all behind us either!”

“What the fuck are you talking about, what has this got to do with anything? A minute ago I confessed my fucking feelings to you and now you’re telling me I want to control you?” He moved forward, trying to close the distance between them, “I thought this is what you wanted?”

He wasn’t shouting, but in many ways that was just worse. There was fury in his tone- she was frustrating him- but there was also hurt. Eliza understood that, she was hurt too, but it didn’t change her answer.

“I thought I did. I thought I wanted this- you," she stepped forward and gestured between them, her voice falling quiet and pained. "But then I came back to someone I thought I could trust, and they used me like I was nothing. Do you not understand what that felt like, Tommy? How humiliating it was, how nauseating to be handed over to Kimber like a plaything you could toss about!" Eliza was turning red from anger as her temper flared. “You never even bothered to apologise either. And not only that, but to then be dragged from Watery Lane like some kind of animal and shut away for half a month, from everyone but a man bent on destroying you through any means- or any person- possible, that was just… horrible.” She muttered, the only word she could manage to find to attempt to describe how awful the ordeal was. “He threatened me, insulted me- he’s even fabricated an entire case that could mean my death- just to fulfil his vendetta against you. That’s all it was, everything I went through- just a way to get back at you. It was _because_ of you, Tommy. So yes, maybe things have changed, and maybe, god, maybe I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

She paused, taking a deep breath as an attempt to calm down. Whilst she was relieved to be getting things off her chest and out into the open, it didn’t feel easy. And it made her head feel likely to explode. Eliza was certain the mixture of alcohol and it being the early hours of the morning weren’t helping, but she also knew it was because everything about this conversation was confusing. The lines were so blurred she had no idea who was even in the right anymore- at this point it was likely to be neither of them.

“Things are so different now, you can’t deny it,” she said softly, “I don’t you anymore. You aren’t who you used to be. I feel as if- as if you’re lost from me and I have no idea how to find you again. The war, four years of never hearing back from you-”

“Of course I’m not who I fucking used to be.” Tommy spat, “you expect me to be the same person I was as a boy, after everything that happened in France?”

“No, Tommy, of course not, but-”

“You can be so selfish sometimes.” He uttered, eyebrows lowering as something dawned on him, “how could you even think that?”

He had turned cold, she could tell. Walls built back up around him as quickly as they could be torn down, and she knew it was her fault. It was too late to turn back now though.

“It is not my fault you love someone who doesn’t exist anymore. That boy is gone. And I thought I told you about those stupid, fucking letters. I’m sick of them. They are not my fault either and maybe you should have taken a fucking hint and stopped writing to me.”

Her face slackened as she looked at him and Eliza began to feel fearful of the man that stood in front of her. His voice was as icy and unfeeling as his eyes, and she knew the things she’d said had irreversibly altered things. But his words had as well.

“What hint do you mean? You just told me you loved me, Tommy, or do you take that back now you can see I’m not one of your obedient whores?” Eliza snapped.

“Oh, you just have to be so good, don’t you?” he said with a sneer, “you know, I bet your father would be so proud of the woman you’ve become.”

“Don’t you bring his fucking name into this.” She warned him, blood running cold.

“No, but this is what it’s all about though, isn’t it?” He pushed, moving closer to her, “It’s what it’s always been about- you told me once yourself. That you have to be good, have to make sure you’ll always be someone he loves, because you’re so afraid of if he ever saw you as anything other than right, or anything other than your mother-”

“-Tommy-”

“Bur it’s the truth. Or is it only me that’s supposed to be facing that today. It’s the whole reason for this act you put on, why you have to be in the right all the time, why you make yourself seem so innocent in all of this, trying to pretend you’re just like her, just like him-”

“-Tommy stop-”

“-Do ever realise you’re not, though? You don’t ever think about why we got along so well- it’s because you are exactly the same as me. Maybe I do want everyone to listen to me, it would do them some good if they did, but don’t act as if you don’t expect them to follow your every order too. You need everyone to be on your side- Finn under your control, _my_ family in _your_ corner- and what about me? Agreeing to fucking spy on me, telling me to hand back my guns, to change my ways. If you disapprove of this life so much, why did you ever bother coming back?

Eliza laughed bitterly at that. She stepped away from him, moving back across the room to put more space between them again. In the brief moment of silence she could hear a sound coming from her neighbour’s apartment. There was no doubt they could hear the two of them shouting, and she wondered how long it would take before their words were passed around Small Heath for all to hear. She didn’t really care at this point.

“No I understand what you’re trying to do, excusing the way you act. ‘You’re just like me, you’re just as bad as me.’ Except I’m not- no one could ever be like you, Tommy. And you know I wondered how long it would take before my only escape from the mess that you put me in, was used against me.” She fired back at him, using fury to hide her wounds. “I had no choice but to agree to that. And despite what you say, you do need to tell me where those guns are, and there are plenty of people in _my_ corner who will agree- Tommy I’ve given you a way to get out of all this!”

“Out of what? This is my life, it’s who I am- that’s never going to change! And it’s who you are as well, Eliza,’ in his anger he didn’t bother with any other address but Eliza, and it felt strangely like the last nail in a coffin, “you are a fucking member of this company. You love to pretend you’re not, but you are- you’ve always been. You profit off those we hurt, you live in a house that we pay for, people fear you the same way they fear any of us! You have always been here, always, so stop acting like you’re better than us, stop expecting me to change, because it’s disgusting.”

“Disgusting, you think I’m disgusting?” She marched over to him, pushing his chest, “you know what’s disgusting? The fact that everyone around you is sick of you Tommy, sick of what you’re doing to us, sick of your expectation that we should all be willing to ruin our lives and bloody our hands at your every command. You are disgusting. And I regret the day I ever came back to this.”

Once again, a thick silence settled between them. They were stood close, but the whole world could between them with the tension that was mounting. Eliza’s eyes shone with tears, but there was no risk of them spilling over. Her lip was curled in horror and she felt secure in the knowledge that in this moment, there was nothing but hate felt for each other. Tommy’s face was blank, his eyes vacant and lips pressed tightly together. There was almost nothing there.

“You were right,” he said finally, “we can’t put any of this behind us.”

“I’m so glad we can agree on something.” She replied coldly.

Tommy picked up his hat from the table, turning on his heel and stalking across the room. He yanked her door open and slammed it shut behind him, leaving nothing but silence and not once looking back. Eliza collapsed then into a chair, her hands shaking and the tears finally spilling down her face. She had to cover her mouth so that her sobs wouldn’t be heard as he still made his way down the stairs. Only once she heard the street door open and close did she allow her body to shake, for the cries to consume her and the silence of the room. She felt nothing but a burning, terrible pain in her chest.

This is what a breaking heart feels like, she knew.

* * *

(22/02/2021)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't keep you waiting for too long! this chapter is literally the whole reason i've written this story so i hope its done it some justice. Who knew how hard it is to try and make ocs interesting, or to try and keep characters true to what they should be like. It will probably be quite a while until i update again, i won't lie, so i hope you have enjoyed these couple of updates
> 
> e x


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